


Dawn To Be Alive

by vintagecurls



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, les mis
Genre: Actor Enjolras, Art Student R, College AU, M/M, Multi, Theater AU, Uni AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7079599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagecurls/pseuds/vintagecurls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire, a tattooed Saudi Arabian dancer and Art student, gets the chance to recover a credit he failed by working as the Set Designer and Co-props master for a free lance show a group of university students are producing after Combeferre writes it in one of his classes. Enjolras, of course, is the lead and fills the role as if it were his own (and with Combeferre being the playrite, it was probably based off of him anyway). Since the show they are producing isn’t a part of anyone’s graduation requirements and is being allowed at the discretion of the school’s president, Javert, the threat of his permission being revoked is always a looming danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! My tiny fic that took all of five months to finish! Shout out to my computer for being a piece of shit!  
> -but really, thanks to my artist, Hannah (@queerronans on tumblr) for being there with me through this process, it was awesome to get to work with you! Thanks for all your hard work!  
> -Playlist here:  
> -also, special thanks to @amusian on tumblr for drawing for me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!  
> -Art here: http://amusain.tumblr.com/post/145367064756/these-enjoltaire-sketches-are-for-dream-too-deep  
> -a THOUSAND THANK YOUS to Marina (@weisbrot on tumblr) for doing these embedded sketches for me so close to my deadline, I cannot even begin to explain how thankful I am for you and your artwork- I could not have asked for a better birthday present!  
> (BARE WITH ME AS I ATTEMPT TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO EMBED ART)  
> For now the link is: http://weisbrot.tumblr.com/post/145467287508/here-it-is-my-very-last-minute-contribution-to
> 
> (((CArrington if you see this, I am sorry for the smut but it is going to be helpful. I am still demisexual lol)

“You’re telling me that I am going to have to work with a bunch of drama geeks to recover this credit?” Grantaire asked, leaning forward in his dark leather seat, thick eyebrows raised in question as he looked across the broad, wooden desk at the university’s president.

“Yes, Mr. Grantaire.” Javert’s voice was annoyed: it was a wonder he could get any words out with his jaw clenched so tight.

“You’ve failed this credit, and ordinarily we do not give students second chances like this. You are lucky that Mr. Valjean talked with your professor on your behalf.”

Grantaire sighed and ran his paint-stained hands through his unruly curls, regretting ever failing the class in the first place.

“Now, if you would like to take this offer, which I advise you do, you will report to the auditorium and meet with the director of the show.” Javert narrowed his eyes as he scrawled across a yellow sticky note and handed it over to the art student.

 

Contrary to what Grantaire had originally thought, the theater had a decent amount of people, most of them people he hadn’t met before. The door closed with a thud behind him and he winced as he watched the multitude of heads whirl around in his direction. He shifted the one strap of his backpack over his shoulder and made his way down the aisle towards the front. Most of the heads had turned back around to face the stage as the chatter resumed, but one stood and moved to meet Grantaire at the foot of the front row. He was holding a pile of a couple different folders with shuffled papers and had a dark brown undercut; square framed glasses, and stood nearly a half a foot taller than Grantaire.

“You must be Adrian.” He stuck out his dark tan hand and offered a smile, nearly his whole face lifting.

“Grantaire.” He corrected and shook his hand, “Or R if you like.”

The man chuckled, “Well, R, I’m Combeferre, playwright, and director.” He drew his hand back and shifted the stack of papers, “I’m so glad you could come be a part of it, I was afraid I would have to attempt set designer myself.”

Grantaire gave a little shrug and glanced around, sweeping some dark curls out of his eyes, “Glad to help.”

“Our first read through is about to start.” Combeferre pulled a booklet off the stack and held it out for the man, “If you’ll just follow along with the cast for now, and then we can get together later to exchange ideas.” He smiled again and moved to sit down again while Grantaire nodded and looked around.

After what felt like an uncomfortable amount of time he finally spotted a familiar face and sat down in the second row beside her. Eponine looked up at the shift of weight and smirked lopsidedly, “Wouldn’t have expected to see you here.”

She spoke in a hushed whisper as Combeferre stood in front of the cast, talking about some poem or other.

Grantaire chuckled under his breath, “And you’re a drama geek?’ He raised his eyebrows, awaiting her answer.

“No.” She hissed and poked him hard in the side, “You know, I’d tell you more stuff if you didn’t tease me about it.”

Grantaire snickered and looked around at everyone looking through scripts and at their director.

“Yeah, well the dean worked out a way for me to recover my lost credit from last year- so now I’m the set designer.”

“Valjean did? That’s nice, now you don’t have to pay to take it again.” She offered as he shrugged.

“That’s true, but now I’ve got to see your face more often.” He smiled smugly as she pinched his side again and looked back to her script.

Grantaire and Eponine had been friends since about fourth grade when the school bully pushed Grantaire off the swing set, teasing him for being ‘brown’, and Eponine nearly beat the snot out of the nasty fifth grader. They sat together in the principal’s office waiting room, laughing over how surprised the poor boy had been and then got a week of recess taken away from them as discipline. They spent their time-out together and from that point had been inseparable. Grantaire reflected on that as he opened his own script: their junior year in college and though they weren’t ‘friendship bracelet’ best friends, they didn’t need to be.

Eponine was a year younger than Grantaire and kept her dark brown, wavy hair around shoulder length, dying streaks of it from time to time. Now the bottom two inches had been dip dyed platinum gray, and it looked good on her.

She may have been younger but she still stood taller than Grantaire, it seemed like most people did. She wore a simple dark purple t-shirt, dark wash skinny jeans, and her signature combat boots. Though she rarely didn’t wear makeup, it was all relatively light; simple winged eyeliner; some mascara, and lipstick. Grantaire only knew this on account of Eponine getting fed up with his lack of knowledge on the subject and teaching him all about it, making him do his own to proved he learned when he was 17, though her makeup was about three shades too light for him.

Grantaire had finally found where the group was when he heard an actor speak. He was obviously the main character, taking such precedence over the room. Grantaire couldn’t see his face but he scanned the row of heads in front of him, eventually locating the speaker.

He had golden blonde hair that fell in tumble curls down to the base of his neck, and moderately wide, slender shoulders: that’s all Grantaire could tell from the back of his head other than how he sat straight up in the plush auditorium seat. Grantaire wondered if he spoke like that all the time or if it was one of those overly in-character type things.

 

They continued to read through the play and Grantaire listened, only dozing off once, to then be awakened abruptly by Eponine pinching his side once again. He made note of the backs of each actor’s head, only getting to see one other cast member’s face. They sat beside Eponine on the other side and had long strawberry blonde hair, tied behind them in braids. Their outfit was more of what caught R’s eye; neon pink skinny jeans; a loose fitting shirt with cloth flower embellishments; fur vest, and cowboy boots with patterns down the sides. Grantaire chuckled and looked down at his own, painfully plain ensemble; plain skinny jeans; old, loose ‘Beatles’ t-shirt; green flannel rolled up to his elbows, showing half of the vine tattoos he had on each dark forearm; and old, sharpie drawing, black converse. He made a mental note to introduce himself some time and ask for a couple tips.  

After about 2 hours, the read through was over and the cast was dismissed. Combeferre asked the production crew to stay behind and Grantaire was surprised when Eponine failed to move.

“Didn’t you just read for your character?” He inquired, eyebrows raised and Eponine nodded before pointing ‘finger guns’ at him.

“I’m on special effects.” She responded dramatically, ‘shooting’ him several times.

Grantaire shook his head and chuckled to himself as Combeferre ushered the remaining crew forwards.

“I’ve finally found us a set designer and co-props master,” He gave a chuckle, his whole face spreading again as he smiled, “So there’s no longer any need to worry.”

Combeferre gestured to Grantaire, who stood near the back, “That’s Grantaire and he will be set designer and co-props master, opposite Joly.”

The others standing near him turned and smiled, a couple of them waving and greeting him. He gave a half-hearted wave and a short smile in return before Combeferre nodded and continued on down the line.

“Most of you know each other already, being in the same circle but for Grantaire’s sake if you’ll just go back through with your names and your jobs.” He nodded once and gestured to a skinny, light brown haired boy with dimples who rocked on his heels slightly.

“I’m Courfeyrac, and I’m the production manager.” He smiled and gave a fully armed wave to Grantaire, looking beside him to another.

“I’m-” He started quietly before clearing his throat, his freckled cheeks reddening slightly, “I’m Marius, and I’m lights designer and technician.”

“Bahorel.” Came a deeper voice from beside him and Grantaire nearly had to look up a little more to take in his whole presence, built and tattooed- in short,

“I’m set builder, so we’ll be working together.” Grantaire nodded and made a note as the tall, dark man smiled toothily and passed the invisible ‘talking stick’ to the tall standing redhead beside him.

“My name’s Feuilly and I am the technical director.” He said easily and slipped his hands into his corduroy pants pockets.

“I am Jehan Prouvaire.” spoke the next, the one who had been sitting beside Eponine, “I am the editor when needed, and the costumer the rest of the time.” They offered a grin and looked to a squirrelly boy beside them who leaned on a cane.

“I’m Joly,” he said, voice even but small, “And I’m your co-props master so I’ll be working with you too.” Grantaire nodded and took a second mental note.

Grantaire looked back to his side where Eponine was again ‘shooting’ him with finger guns, “I’m Eponine and I’m on special effects.” She grinned and made a sound similar to an explosion, expanding her hands as if it was.

Grantaire nodded, feeling the need to offer the group a small smile before Combeferre spoke up once again.

“Thanks, everyone, I’m very excited to get this show started. I assume you all have your rehearsal schedules- Grantaire, I’ll get you one in a moment- I will see you all tomorrow.- Oh! And please, if you don’t think you will be able to make it to a rehearsal, let me know ahead of time so I can plan accordingly.”

The group dispersed, some offering Grantaire a couple words of welcome before he glanced at the time on his, nearly six-year-old, flip phone. He slid his phone back into his pocket and gathered his things, wishing a goodbye to Eponine and checking the front pouch of his backpack for his assortment of dance supplies before slipping out the back of the theater and making a beeline for his car.

 

Grantaire had started dance when his mother, a Saudi Arabian immigrant, decided Grantaire would learn some traditional dance. Though, when they got to the dance studio, they didn’t offer any traditional Middle Eastern dance classes: only contemporary belly dancing. Grantaire’s mother looked at the class description for quite a bit, leaving the seven-year-old, curly headed boy to slip away while a different class took place on the floor. Grantaire stood in the doorway as the tall dancers in pink or black jumped across the floor to the time of some classical piano song his little brain didn’t recognize. He stood there for a while before his mother finally found him: calmly walking up behind him and setting a hand on his shoulder: though Grantaire couldn’t pull his eyes away from the dancers.

“You would like to do that, yes?” She raised an eyebrow simply and followed his gaze.

The boy just nodded, his curls bouncing.

His mother signed him up the same day after he had assured her that he didn’t care that the class was made up of mostly girls, and he started his first ballet class the following Monday.

Grantaire’s mother had always been understanding, supporting him as he continued through his dance career, and even when he decided to become an art major though his father spent more time informing him he would never find a job. Grantaire’s mother had no problem with his schedule when he began to add more classes to the list; ballet, jazz, contemporary, one class of

ballroom, tap, and even a year of belly dancing (much to his father's disapproval).

Since starting college nearly two and a half years ago, Grantaire had to cut back on his dance time, continuing with just ballet on Monday nights: which is where he sped away to then, glancing at the clock and swearing under his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since the cast’s first read through and Grantaire sat in the back of the theater, in the light booth, with the lighting guy, Marius. Grantaire had a thick yellow folder in his lap, which (as with most things Combeferre compiled for this play) was overflowing with pages of notes and sample sketches of ideas for a set. Between Combeferre’s multitudes of ideas, Grantaire’s sketching, and Bahorel’s ‘make it happen’ ability, they had developed a nearly complete plan for the set over just one coffee meeting. Grantaire had stayed quiet as he sipped his “Irish” black coffee, appreciating its added kick and  allowing Comb and Bahorel to assess what was doable before he made a couple sample sketches.

Grantaire’s jobs were relatively easy for the time being; reading through the script and making note of what props needed to be on the set, while Joly made note of what props needed to be sent with actors; and half-assing some research on details that Combeferre wanted to be included. Most rehearsals he could slip in late and sit in the back of the theater, absentmindedly flipping through the script, doodling tiredly in the margin of his notes, and calculating if he would have enough time to grab a drink at the bar before he had to return to his apartment. The real work would come soon, once Bahorel got up the plain white walls and Grantaire would have to thrift shop for furniture on a budget of virtually nothing.

 

The importance of this play was described to Grantaire after Combeferre had wrapped up their coffee shop meeting. The thing was, he was told, this play wasn’t truly a part of any of Combeferre’s requirements for his major: he had written this play over his freshman and sophomore year in a creative writing course and, with the help of Valjean, convinced the university president to allow him to produce it to raise awareness for diversity in theatre and maybe make a little profit for the school’s theater department. However, this meant that their budget was nearly nothing and if he decided like it wasn’t going in a profitable direction, Javert could change his mind whenever he wanted. Grantaire had assured Combeferre that he wouldn’t back out and would do his best to fulfill Comb’s vision for the set, on account of the school letting Grantaire make up a credit and all.

 

Grantaire shuffled his loose papers then and pushed them back into the folder, glancing over at Marius, who was looking over the switchboard and glancing between his libretto and the labels, muttering to himself.

Marius was a tall, lanky boy with freckles and sandy red hair, who seemed pretty nervous most of the time though he was confident in his lighting skills and kept up an optimistic attitude. He kept himself occupied in the script when he wasn’t distracted with this one actress that seemed to have somehow bewitched him; it was only a half hour into their blocking and Grantaire had caught him staring nearly 5 or 6 times.

Grantaire stood, tucking the folder under his arm, and chuckled to himself as he saw Marius tilt his head to the stage once more. Marius either didn’t hear him or didn’t want to look away from the petite beauty that was undoubtedly on stage, because he didn’t move as Grantaire turned to leave the light booth. Grantaire was nearly to the door when a glimmer of light gold hair caught his eye. He glanced at the door knob that was only two inches from his hand before looking back to light booth window and taking a step back towards the switchboard: finally able to see the entire stage once again.

It was him: the actor he had heard at the first rehearsal, crowned by his golden curls that didn’t need Marius to illuminate them (the only feature that Grantaire had recognized on account of having sat behind him). He spoke as he had before, voice sharp and commanding, filling the space of the stage and the whole house, back into the light booth. Grantaire could now look over his face as he moved across the stage like it was what he was born to do; his face was thin with high cheekbones, a slender chin, and prominent jaw line. From this far away and with the man moving, he couldn’t see his eyes, even though by this point Grantaire had mechanically leaned forward, closer to the window.

The man was as slender as his shoulders had led on but used his limbs to his advantage: each movement direct and with purpose. He wore a simple outfit; plain, light wash skinny jeans; a loose, v-neck t-shirt; and red high-top converse, though he wore it like it had been tailored to fit him and him only.

Grantaire must have been standing there a little too long because Marius cleared his throat awkwardly, motioning to the section of the light board that Grantaire nearly laid across. Grantaire oddly became aware of a warmth filling his cheeks and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“Sorry..” He murmured and took a step away from the switches, straightening the worn, green beanie that covered half his messy curls.

He turned on his heel, trying hard not to look as flustered as his gut was definitely telling him he was.

____________________________________________________

 

His name was Enjolras, as Grantaire later found out through the rest of the crew. He came from a long line of French lawyers, all of which had been ice cold.

His eyes were blue, well - not just blue. Enjolras’s eyes were robin’s egg blue, and Grantaire had most certainly not looked through his color reference charts while drunk to come to this conclusion. Enjolras’s eyes were robin’s egg blue that could go from soft to sharp in less than a second.

____________________________________________________

 

“I can work with that.” Grantaire purposed one rehearsal as Combeferre and Enjolras gaped at the backdrop they had pulled from the workshop- battered and dirty beyond cleaning.

“You can make our city streets out of this?” Combeferre asked him, dropping the corner of the canvas back down.

“Sure.” Grantaire shrugged slightly, suddenly half regretting the offer upon realizing exactly how long that might take. He glanced at Enjolras who looked across the house at his, eyebrow quirked in question.

“As long as Blondie here helps me keep it historically accurate,” Grantaire smirked as Enjolras glanced between them and Combeferre nodded.

“Enjolras will help you during the breaks and when he’s off stage.” Combeferre decided for him.

Enjolras eyes narrowed slightly as he looked between the canvas and the artist, finally nodding after a prolonged moment.

“Just to keep it accurate.” He repeated, running a thin hand through his curls.

____________________________________________________

 

There had been five rehearsals since Grantaire had first seen Enjolras on stage, and was introduced to the rest of the cast promptly after their second read through. He had made an honest attempt to remember all their names as they went down the line but it had taken him another couple rehearsals to finally get into the swing of things. We had waved his hellos to each member, smacking himself on the cheek on accident as he looked across at Enjolras.

Enjolras was only about four inches taller than Grantaire, but he appeared taller on account of how straight he stood. His hair always fell in its established curls and was never frizzy (by some miracle, because Grantaire new the sheer power of frizz); while his skin was always unblemished.

Grantaire could imagine how someone might find him intimidating but Enjolras defied his expectations in most cases, smiling often as he talked with some of the other cast members or truly focused on the notes he would receive from Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

____________________________________________________

 

“No, I don’t think you’re understanding his motivation for having placed the painting there,” Enjolras said as Grantaire straightened a frame against a wall of what was to be Enjolras’s character’s bedroom one rehearsal.

“Sure I do,” Grantaire replied, turning back around with the still empty frame in hand. “His walls are really empty,” Grantaire smirked as he saw Enjolras shake his head.

Grantaire loved any chance at interaction he got with Enjolras though it had established itself to be mostly teasing or a discussion over an incorrect detail of the time period, more likely to be Grantaire’s fault.

“That isn’t it, Grantaire,” It was funny how his name, something he’s heard billions of times, sounded different each time Enjolras said it. “He needs that painting placed there because it guards the maps and the transcripts of the group’s plans. Haven’t you been here for an entire read through?”

Grantaire chuckled, nodding as he looked at the empty frame.

“Yes, Enjolras, I know that. But what if he was just great at interior design?”

“Sure.” Enjolras said shortly, “And see if you can have the painting be something by Ambroise Dubois, please.” Enjolras turned on his heel, his curls bouncing slightly in his wake.

____________________________________________________

 

Enjolras was a political science major but he was incredibly invested in his part. He claimed he did so for the sake of the show but Grantaire liked to think it was because he secretly enjoyed doing so many characterization games. He always arrived at rehearsals right on time and met with Combeferre before he left afterward. His lines, though he still held his script on stage, were mostly memorized already- only a few weeks into production.

____________________________________________________

 

“You know you don’t have to sit there and watch me paint every little stroke, right?” Grantaire asked as the pair sat backstage; Grantaire beginning his work on the horridly painted backdrop.

“I understand that, but since I’m sitting here it might be more interesting than looking through my script again.” The blonde said, crossing his legs as he sat on a rehearsal block, looking across at Grantaire who had situated himself on the floor between the edge of the canvas and a bucket of gray paint.

“I can promise you the base layer is far less interesting than you expect.” Grantaire’s lips curled into a small smile as he went to work with his roller. He had taken off his hoodie and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel, knowing he would be spread out over the backdrop.

“I don’t hold too high of expectations for it, though,” Enjolras explained using his hands, moving an escaped curl behind his ear as he looked at Grantaire.

“Well good, because after the base layer it quite literally is as boring as watching paint dry.” Grantaire chuckled, pleased with his analogy and sat back on his knees a moment to make sure his sleeves were tightly rolled- his vine tattoos appearing with the lack of cloth to cover them.

“Your tattoos," Enjolras said after a moment, “When did you get them?”

Grantaire furrowed his brows as he glanced at the actor, coating his roller in the paint again.

“These I got the moment I turned eighteen.” He motioned with his chin to the forest green lines that decorated his forearms like veins. “I showed the guy my sketch and nearly two hours later it was done.”

“You designed them?” Enjolras leaned forward in his seat, uncrossing his legs.

“Yeah..” Grantaire said simply, finishing the bottom half of the base layer and standing to move to the top half. “Most of the tattoos I have I sketched myself.”

“You have more, then?” The blonde concluded.

“A few more,” Grantaire said vaguely, rolling paint over the canvas once again.

“Enjolras-!” A voice came from on stage, causing them both to jump.

Grantaire looked over to where to actor had been sitting a moment ago but he had already stood and made his way out onto the stage.

____________________________________________________

 

Later, when Grantaire had agreed to join a group (Feuilly, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, Jehan, and Eponine) for drinks at a local pub right off campus, Joly explained how Enjolras had a deep love for history- especially the era of the many French Revolutions. That was why he wanted everything to be historically correct. Grantaire just shrugged and took another sip of his half empty beer, glad he got a chance to have a real discussion with Enjolras since most of the time he seemed so concentrated on his script or another older looking book.

Though Grantaire had discovered he got along with most of the company, he had grown fond of those he sat in a both with then, joking and laughing loudly in the corner of the bar.

Joly was seeing Bossuet, but also seeing Musichetta- which was confusing at first because the three were so close that Grantaire didn’t know who was with who. But Grantaire found that their dynamic worked for them and they were a charismatic group, eager to make friends with him.

Grantaire had recognized Bahorel when he first met him though he wasn’t sure how until Bahorel had pointed out that they box at the same gym on Saturdays. Grantaire usually went to box out his stress on Saturday afternoons, though Bahorel was actually doing some real fights for money on some weekends- with the support of Feuilly, his boyfriend, who was nearly always late to rehearsals (from one of his three jobs).

Eponine had pulled Jehan along into coming with the group though they didn’t drink. Tonight they wore galaxy leggings: a flowy long sleeved t-shirt: red keds: and had their hair in a couple different sized braids. Their pale, slender face embellished with simple silver glitter behind the eyes.

Jehan was an interesting figure that helped the actors with certain syllabic stress exercises. They were taking a lot of courses on creative writing and spoken word on account of developing techniques for their poetry. When they weren’t doing that, Jehan was in charge of most of the costumes and spent a lot of time making alterations to the Elizabethan era style clothes that had probably been collecting dust in the costume closet for years.

 

Eponine sat across from Grantaire, smiling at him periodically through their night, reassuring him silently that he was doing just fine.

Over their long term friendship, Grantaire and Eponine had gotten to know each other ticks, quirks, and worries just as best friends do. This was how Eponine came to know that Grantaire worried: like a lot. It had gotten worse after his mother passed away last year and he was left to try to piece together what little mental stability he had left. Eponine tried her best to reassure Grantaire through small things to allow him to be himself.

 

The night’s gathering soon ended but their laughing did not. Grantaire found himself thinking about jokes they had made hours before as he laid down to sleep that night, a good amount of alcohol pumping through his veins. He knew, with the help of Eponine, how to limit himself when he drank in the company of others, but when he was alone he wasn’t quite so careful.

 

He curled up in his sheets that smelled of paint and coffee grinds and laid back against the pillow, staring at his ceiling. Running his tan fingers through his mangy curls. He sighed deeply, thinking about his work with the theater: the basically white walls that he and Bahorel had designed and built, the thrift shop runs he and Joly had taken during rehearsals: his discussions with Enjolras about the accuracy of a vase or a detail on the backdrop.

Enjolras. Enjolras seemed to come to his mind too frequently: his piercing robin’s egg blue eyes invading Grantaire’s lucid thoughts. Enjolras whose voice cut through an empty house like a knife and who looked just right in every single costume he tried on, to the point that Jehan was having trouble deciding and Combeferre really just didn’t know which would work best. Enjolras who cocked his head to the side when he questioned Grantaire’s decision and pointed things out inquisitively.

It made his chest ache to think about him too long.

He smiled to himself and laid on his side, slowly letting his heavy eyelids slide closed with thoughts of early 1800’s paintings and bright blonde tumble curls.


	3. Chapter 3

“Allegro combination across the floor in trios, please!” The tight voice of Grantaire’s ballet instructor filled the studio as the small group of dancers lined up in the corner.  
A speedy piano piece began to play as the first group of dancers started across the floor, quickly followed by the remaining groups.  
Grantaire breathed in deeply as he plied in fifth position and came around to restart the combination from the other side of the room. He pushed a stray curl that had fallen from his bun out of his face before beginning across the floor, his muscle memory taking control to propel him through the studio.  
The beauty of being a ballet dancer, Grantaire thought, was that there was always something to think about: fingers pointed correctly, arms curved, shoulders relaxed, chest up, neck straight, eyes forward, legs straight unless otherwise needed; there was no room to worry about anything else- to get a move right you had to focus.  
Grantaire found himself thinking about other things far too much. He thought about his mother more now than he had when she was alive; how she had supported him through all his unstable decisions, and how understanding she had been when Grantaire had explained the concept of bisexuality to her.  
He thought about his dad a lot too- how he secretly wished his son didn’t dance or liked girls exclusively though he wasn’t very great at keeping it secret. He kept in good contact with his sister since he went off to university and then more often once their mother had passed away. For some unknown reason his younger sister, a junior in high school, wanted to be like him- though she was probably far smarter. Grantaire cussed and drank and smoked when he was in high school but somehow his younger sister, Hadia, continued to look up to him.

He was reading a text from his sister as he walked out of the studio, hair still up in a bun and a pair of running shorts and a loose, long sleeved t-shirt casually thrown over his dance clothes. He rounded the corner of the sidewalk, beginning to type his reply before he slammed into someone walking towards him. Whoever it was had been going through an opening book, which jabbed into Grantaire’s chest, sending him backward onto the sidewalk.  
“Oh- I’m sorry, I was-” Came a familiar voice from above, looking down at the brunette who picked his (thankfully cased) phone up off the concrete. “Grantaire?”  
Grantaire looked up, shading his eyes from the early autumn sun, in time to see Enjolras, radiant as ever, turning to read the sign on the door Grantaire had just emerged from.  
Fuck, Grantaire thought, another person who would stop taking him seriously on account of him being a boy who danced.  
He sighed and stood up from the sidewalk as Enjolras quickly shuffled his book closed and reached to help him.  
“Hey, Enjolras..” He said, trying to hide his reluctance.  
Enjolras just looked at him for a moment, shifting his large book under his arm.  
“Go ahead,” Grantaire said, shifting his own bag on his shoulder and slipping his phone into an open pocket. He’d have to answer his sister later. “Ask me.” He raised both his eyebrows as he looked at Enjolras, the fall wind gently playing at the red flannel he wore, rolled at the elbows.  
“You dance?” Enjolras said, only a second afterward, glancing at the black leggings Grantaire still wore beneath his running shorts.  
“Ballet,” Grantaire responded. He was now used to the questions people would ask once they had figured out he danced.  
“I’ve been dancing for almost 15 years- more styles than ballet- and no, I’m not gay,” Grantaire said, pursing his lips as he looked across at the blonde, who looked a little puzzled. Grantaire hated that people would immediately assume that straight guys couldn’t dance because it was ‘too feminine’, even though he wasn’t straight.  
“I didn’t think-” Enjolras started, running a hand through his hair, which got in his face as the wind blew.  
“I’m-uh- I’m bi.” Grantaire cut him off a little too quickly, not wanting Enjolras to get the impression that he was straight either.  
After getting passed the whole ‘will my family except me’ part of coming out, Grantaire hadn’t ever tried to hide his sexuality and took pride in telling people- whether that be to their disapproval or not.  
“I wasn’t making any assumptions, Grantaire.” Enjolras finished finally.  
“Oh..” Grantaire said, nodding and adjusting his dance bag back on his shoulder, “Right..” He glanced back at the dance studio door before finally looking back over at Enjolras, whose head was tilted as he scanned Grantaire’s face curiously.  
“I’ll see you at rehearsal, then?” Grantaire said, furrowing his brows and itching to get away from the awkward situation.  
“Sure, of course.” Enjolras nodded in agreement, tucking one of his loose curls -his long, silky golden curls… fuck, Grantaire was gone- back behind his own ear. “I’ll see you at rehearsal.”  
Grantaire nodded once, sidestepping Enjolras and glancing down at the sidewalk as he went on his way.  
____________________________________________________

“Wait- Enjolras?!” Eponine cried, plopping herself down on the floor of Grantaire’s dorm room, an unopened bottle of wine in her hands.  
“God,” Grantaire groaned, falling face first into his tiny, dorm bed, “I know, it’s completely ridiculous.”  
“When did you figure all this out?” Eponine asked, working the twist top of the bottle.  
“I dunno, probably at some point when we were working on that goddamned canvas together.. Then I crashed into him walking out of dance on Monday and I couldn’t quit thinking about-”  
“He knows!?” Eponine cackled once and looked up at the brunette, sitting cross-legged. “What did he say?” She fawned, finally getting the cap off and tossing it at Grantaire’s overflowing trash can on the other side of the room.  
“Well,” Grantaire started, wincing as he rolled onto his elbow to face Eponine, “Not a whole lot before I explained that I take ballet, been dancing 15 years, and I’m not gay.”  
Eponine paused, looking up from the label of the wine bottle she had been scanning, “You told him that?” She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.  
“Yes, I told him that- and then to clarify I told him I was bi,” Grantaire said again, blushing lightly as he buried his face in his pillow, groaning.  
“Wow.” Eponine nodded, taking a swig of the bottle, “Smooth come on there, killer.”  
“Shut up and give me the bottle,” Grantaire said, blindly reaching his hand out over the side of the bed.  
“You can’t drink while laying down,” Eponine teased, standing back up and moving to sit on the edge of Grantaire’s barely made bed.  
“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He mumbled defiantly, despite sitting up and taking the bottle from Eponine’s hands.  
“Did you want to embarrass yourself in front of Enjolras or was that just you attempting to-” She grunted sharply as Grantaire jabbed her in the side with his elbow.  
“Shut up or I drink the whole bottle myself.” He threatened daringly, narrowing his eyes at Eponine, who only laughed.  
“You probably will anyway,” She said, leaning against Grantaire’s side as he took a long swig, “Let’s just get drunk and play Yahtzee.”  
____________________________________________________

It was far too bright, too early, and too loud but Grantaire was up and on his way to the first Saturday rehearsal- his hair, still damp from his groggy shower, was contained (mostly) in his green beanie and his eyes were hiding from the excruciating sun behind a pair of sunglasses he had found on the floor. He finally walked into the sweet relief of the cool, dark theater: late, but hey, he was there.  
He tilted his sunglasses back onto the top of his head and downed a sip of his coffee, silently cursing how Eponine had let him have the lion’s share of wine, cursing the god awful morning, and cursing Saturday rehearsals until he scanned the room.  
The crowd had already split up; the actors doing scene work in the house as some of the production crew flipped through their yellow folders.  
Enjolras was talking with Combeferre, probably a discussion over the original poem that play had been inspired by and whether or not they were making good progress with only a month and a half until opening night.  
Enjolras had obviously just woken up a bit earlier since his eyes and face were still soft. His hair had been swept up into a messy bun- but not like a bird’s nest messy bun- like the one that people try to do. He stood with his weight on one foot, his hand resting on his hip. Enjolras was wearing a pair of light, cuffed skinny jeans, white converse, and a red crop top that said ‘raise girls and boys the same way’.  
It was enough for Grantaire’s hungover mind to tell him he needed to sit down in a plush theater seat and busy himself with his yellow folder.  
After a bit he dared to look back up as the tips of white converse appeared in the edge of his vision.  
“They’re starting at the top of Act Two where I’m in hiding,” Enjolras said, raising his eyebrows at the brunette, who blinked a few times to adjust to how much brighter Enjolras was compared to his scribbled notes of stones and shrubs.  
“Great,” Grantaire said, voice still gravelly, “Then we’ll get to workin’ on the canvas.” He pulled out his reference pictures and stood, pulling the glasses off of his head and sighing slightly when he realized they were Eponine’s sunglasses- the ones with purple frames around heart lenses.  
He cleared his throat and glanced at Enjolras, who only quirked an eyebrow once again and turned to start backstage.

“Is it just ballet, then?” Enjolras asked, lowering himself on the floor in front of his usual seat across from Grantaire.  
Grantaire stooped over the paint can he was opening, adding some of the gray to his pallet to lighten it.  
“As of right now, yes.” He said, quietly now that they were backstage and he didn’t feel like being much louder. “But I’ve basically tried every style of dance my studio offered when I was at home. I had to settle for just ballet once I started uni.”  
Enjolras nodded, resting an elbow on his bent knee. “Do people know or is it like a hidden talent kind of thing?”  
Grantaire shrugged as he slipped off his flannel, which definitely needed washing, tying it around his waist and sat down in front of one corner of the canvas, “It isn’t a secret but people don’t usually ask me.”  
Enjolras chuckled, swiping a curl out of his face and behind his ear, “Well, do you enjoy it?”  
Grantaire nodded, beginning to wipe the wet brush across the canvas, “It’s always a workout and it keeps me occupied.”  
“And people normally assume your sexuality based on the fact that you dance?” Ah, yes, there it was.  
Grantaire nodded after a moment, “I mean, as much as I’m not straight, it’s still a little unfair to just assume that because I dance I’m automatically gay.”  
Enjolras leaned his head back against his chair, “I bet that sucks for straight people,” He said vaguely and Grantaire looked up at him, avoiding his midriff at all costs.  
“So you’re...” Grantaire started carefully, lifting an eyebrow as Enjolras scoffed and shook his head.  
“Gay,” He said simply and tilted his head against the chair to look over at Grantaire. “Well, gray-sexual and homoromantic but that’s a mouthful.”  
Grantaire chuckled and nodded, “I assume that isn’t a secret then since you’re telling me..”  
Enjolras smiled genuinely, the corners of his lips turning up and the corners of his eyes crinkling as he nodded, “No, not really. All these people,” He said, gesturing towards the group of people that worked just beyond the wall, “Have known me for a while, and it isn’t a secret at all. I was just figuring that since you trusted me enough to tell me I could-”  
Grantaire laughed, looking up as he dabbed his brush in the gray paint, finishing up the shading of the cobblestones in the corner, “My sexuality isn’t a secret either, Enjolras, you don’t have to feel like you should return the favor.” He sat up on his knees and looked over the nearly finished canvas, “And that was really an abrupt way of telling you... I just usually get asked if I’m gay- and then I denied it- and then I didn’t want you to think I was straight and-” He rambled, moving to brush a stroke of paint across another cobblestone.  
“That’s alright, Grantaire, I don’t mind it.” Enjolras said, sitting up and stretching out his legs, “Most of the group isn’t, in case you haven’t picked up on that yet,”  
Grantaire smiled, “No, I get that.” He set down his pallet and brush, resting his hands on his hips as he looked over the city streets he had attempted to bring to life on the ragged canvas.  
“It looks good,” Enjolras’s voice said, cutting through Grantaire’s hazy thoughts. “Very accurate, actually.” He added and moved to stand up.  
Grantaire smiled, running a hand through his hair, “You don’t think I should add a yellow brick road, Goldilocks?” He propped up a thick eyebrow teasingly.  
“Those references aren’t even from the same story, Arty boy,” Enjolras replied over his shoulder, his pace quickening slightly after his failed attempt at a name for Grantaire.  
Grantaire smiled as he watched him walk off, his hangover seeming a bit lighter as the words ‘arty boy’ coming out of the blonde’s perfect lips lifted his mood.


	4. Chapter 4

“Why are you so content with giving up!?” Enjolras’s voice demanded, bouncing off the tile of the theater’s lobby floor. His face was solid, like marble carved thousands of years ago, his brow creased with frustration as he looked across at Grantaire, who took a moment or two too long before responding.  
“I have already told you; the likelihood that this will succeed is far too small for any more time to be wasted-”  
“It wouldn’t be a waste!”  
“-On such a petty project, one that doesn’t even matter!”  
“We cannot just let this happen, you ignorant idiot-!” Enjolras spat, his distaste clear in his eyes.  
“Well, what do you suppose we do, since you’re so high and mighty and seem to know the answer to everything!” Grantaire shot back, his brow creasing and his gut twisting at the malevolence so clear in Enjolras’s voice.  
“We will just have to go back and review-”  
“Exactly!” Grantaire cut him off with a shout, “There isn’t anything we can do- all our efforts have been futile and there’s nothing left, it’s hopeless.”  
Enjolras scowled, his knuckles going white from the fists they had curled into. “You aren’t anything but a coward and lowly cynic, you have no faith in this project and no faith in me. You’ve hardly done anything or contributed in any way-”  
“How could you say such a thing?” Grantaire exclaimed, his eyebrows raising, “This group would be in trouble if it weren’t for the work that I was doing. You just never seem to notice because your head's too full of air and you never look down to see the real change that’s happening, rather than the hopeless endeavor you are attempting-”  
“It isn’t hopeless!” Enjolras exploded, taking a step towards the art student and pausing as the echo of his shout died off in the distance of the room.  
Grantaire let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in, looking over Enjolras’s face as he relaxed, “Wow.” Fuck, he was so screwed. “This is your first show?” He asked as Enjolras relaxed in front of him and reached out to take his script back.  
“Yes, I’m not very much into drama but Combeferre asked me to play this role.” The blonde responded, tucking his script up under his arm and running a hand through his hair.  
Today Enjolras wore light wash skinny jeans, a gray v-neck t-shirt and a jean jacket adorned with patches. He explained that the jacket was a gift from Jehan when Grantaire complemented his assorted LGBT+ patches.  
“For some reason, that’s hard for me to believe,” Grantaire said, opening the door to the theater for Enjolras and following him in, his gut still aching slightly, either from being on the receiving end of Combeferre’s written words and Enjolras’s even more stinging tone or perhaps something else that he was so hasty to shove from his mind.

“Our set is up and we have exactly one month until the curtain rises on our opening night.” Combeferre’s voice spread over the cast and crew as he sat on the edge of the stage, adjusting his glasses. “Monday is a long rehearsal and our first full run through. Please, be here on time so that we can start.”  
Grantaire looked around the cast from the seat he had established as his beside Eponine, pausing when he spotted a bright ‘save the bees’ patch on the shoulder of Enjolras’s jacket and smiled to himself.  
“Grantaire-” Eponine hissed a moment later and Grantaire watched Enjolras’s neck twist and his robin’s egg blue eyes laid on him before he finally glanced at Eponine, who quickly nodded to Combeferre.  
“Will all of the moving set be ready to work tomorrow?” Combeferre asked, obviously for more than the first time, with an eyebrow raised.  
“Oh-! Um- Yes,” Grantaire nodded, clearing his throat, “Everything on the stage that moves is in working order.”  
“Great,” Combeferre smiled and looked to Courfeyrac who smiled in return and nodded, “That’s all I’ve got for you today, great work and be on time Monday, please!” Combeferre attempted to call over the rustling of the cast and crew gathering their things to go, leaving Grantaire to attempt to handle the various props and boxes he needed to take home.

“Do you need a hand?” Enjolras’s voice came behind him and Grantaire looked up, glancing at him and immediately correcting himself- drawing his eyes up to the actor’s face.  
“Actually, that would be great.” He nodded, putting Eponine’s heart lensed glasses, which he had adopted as his own, up in his mess of curls and shifting the things in his hands to allow Enjolras to take a couple of the assorted props.  
They were quiet as Grantaire led Enjolras out to his car, unlocking it and shifting some things in. The silence didn’t bother Grantaire much but he wondered if he should be saying something to fill it.  
“The cityscape looks really good,” Enjolras said after Grantaire had closed his back door, leaning on the poor, half-dead car as he turned to face the blonde. His hair was still hanging perfectly and his hands rested delicately on his hips as he looked at Grantaire, seeming to expect an answer.  
“Erm, thank you. I’m just glad it got done- I didn’t know if the rag could take living another life.” Grantaire chuckled, casually slipping his hands into his pockets as he looked across at Enjolras. He smiled to himself as he looked over his face, taking in his features -his high cheekbones and slender jaw line, complimenting his full lips.  
Enjolras cleared his throat, “I enjoyed working on it with you. You actually seemed to know the period well enough on your own.”  
Grantaire just shrugged, furrowing his brows as he noticed how Enjolras was looking at him- seeming to expect something from him. “Art history is a required sophomore course that I completed last year so this wasn’t too much of a stretch.”  
“Sure,” Enjolras said and nodded, “That makes sense.”  
There was a long pause between them and Grantaire furrowed his brows a little as he looked at the blonde- who’s face was unreadable, seeming to want something from Grantaire. Grantaire stood up off of his car, nodding. “I-um-I have to go.. I’m meeting Bahorel at the gym.”  
Enjolras nodded and cleared his throat, tucking a hand into his pocket as he swiped a rogue curl back behind his ear and turned to go.  
“I’ll see you later, Goldilocks,” Grantaire called after him unlocking his car.  
Enjolras just glanced at him and rolled his eyes, a small smile playing at his lip as he walked away.  
____________________________________________________

Three weeks to opening night and things were getting tighter; more coffee runs, more prop and set touch ups and, longer rehearsals. The days grew shorter and colder on top of that and the cast had started doing more and more things together as they grew closer- spending most of their free time together and all.  
Oh, and the fact that Grantaire had completely gone off the wall for Enjolras- whether that be annoying him during free time or making faces at him from the audience during rehearsal- but either way, Enjolras’s face infected his dreams, his sketchbooks, his thoughts at dance or while boxing and even more when he had had a couple beers, or maybe a few more than that, and Eponine had to drive him back to his place.  
Enjolras had seemed to draw into himself, however, leaving rehearsals the moment Combeferre dismissed them, only showing up to half the outside activities the theater company: now nicknamed the ‘Amis de l'ABC’, had- where Grantaire had grown fond enough of the group to maybe drink a glass too many, while Enjolras might even snap at some people.  
Well- Grantaire, actually.  
The snapping wasn’t totally uncalled for, though- Grantaire seemed to try to provoke it. The truth being that he didn’t really know how to get anything from Enjolras besides the quick remarks. It wasn’t unusual, though: it was just their dynamic.  
____________________________________________________

“No, Grantaire,” Enjolras rolled his eyes one day as he sat on Courfeyrac’s couch, his legs crisscrossed with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, “I do not look like Legolas.”  
It was Friday movie night at the apartment that Courfeyrac and Bahorel shared and it was Joly’s turn to pick the movie, so naturally they were watching ‘Fellowship of the Ring’, which would soon turn into watching the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy.  
“You totally do.” He laughed, pointing at him and glancing at Feuilly, who held in a laugh. “You both have that ‘I sense something’ look and the nose, and you both move like elves, well- I mean he is an elf.”  
“I don’t move like an elf,” Enjolras said, crinkling his nose as he shook his head.  
“Maybe not exactly like Orlando Bloom, but just like him as an elf.”  
“Play the movie-” Courfeyrac whined from his place in Combeferre’s lap on the large lounge chair.  
“We can’t,” Joly’s voice came from the other side of Enjolras on the couch. “Bahorel and Jehan aren’t back from getting more drinks yet.”  
“Yeah, and Cosette is using the bathroom.” Eponine pointed out from her place on the floor, her head in Grantaire’s lap and her legs across where Jehan should be sitting.  
The group would soon end up falling asleep in their places, and some would wake up later to go home while others, like Feuilly, Combeferre, Enjolras and Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta, would stay behind, waking up the next morning.  
“Come on, you have to admit you at least look a little like that, Goldilocks-”  
“Stop calling me that-!” Enjolras snapped suddenly, the remote slipping from Joly’s hand and clattering on the floor as a couple people exchanged looks.  
Grantaire was looking at up at Enjolras, his expression unreadable. He had thought that Goldilocks and Arty boy were- but it didn’t matter. Enjolras’s eyes were still on his, his face set and but it was hard for Grantaire to decided what was there. Grantaire just turned back around to face the TV as the missing members returned to their places and Eponine moved closer, wrapping her arms around Grantaire’s waist as he just shrugged, his usual barrage of sarcastic comments declining for the remainder of the movie.  
____________________________________________________

Three weeks to the show and Javert was there. Sitting in the fifth row with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

He had shown up right at 3 o’clock, when the company had gathered to begin a full run through- only stopping to fix major blocking errors and some dysfunctions- but then Javert showed up, insisting that he see the work they had been doing for the past two and a half months.  
Combeferre had just adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and nodding, giving the cast the new instructions- to start at the top and work through light cues. Marius had paled slightly but nodded, gathering his things and starting for the light booth.

Grantaire sat in the second to last row beside Jehan and Joly, watching the play, he had somehow helped to bring to life, begin on the stage before him.  
They had only had one other run through- a really early, rough run through- about two weeks ago, just to piece things together. So naturally, sitting back and watching the cast piece their entrances together was much like watching a baby attempt to take its first steps on its own- occasionally gripping onto a chair or table for support.  
Naturally, Grantaire’s eyes were all but glued to tight-ass revolutionary Enjolras played the whole time. Somehow he knew that this was the day Enjolras had the most classes, a Tuesday, and adding a two-hour long show would only exhaust him more. Enjolras, however, showed no sign of any such feelings- his lines coming with as much force as they had the day he and Grantaire had read lines in the lobby.

A two-hour show, give or take some mistakes, and the school’s president didn’t move. He sat in the fifth row, arms folded and legs crossed for the whole two hours and didn’t seem to shift.  
Once they had finished the cast filed into the first couple of rows for notes, they silence indicating how they seemed to be waiting for Javert’s verdict.  
Javert stood after everyone had settled and walked down the aisle to where Combeferre stood, holding his notebook under his arm, his pen tucked behind his ear and dark brown hair. He gave the older man a calm smile, “I hope you have enjoyed what you saw. It is coming along quite nicely but I will admit there are a few things we need to straighten out in the next few weeks. And, of course, we are so extremely thankful that you would give us the chance-”  
Combeferre was cut short when Javert raised a hand to silence him. “May I speak with you in the lobby, Monsieur Combeferre?” It really wasn’t really a question.  
Combeferre nodded, his dark tan cheeks seeming to drain as he followed the stocky man back up the aisle and out the theater door into the lobby.  
____________________________________________________

“-Cancelled.” Combeferre’s voice echoed through the silence of the theater. His face seemed drained and his hair was tousled from running his hand through it so many times.

The group had been restless, the chattering starting the moment the door sealed closed, but now they sat still, silent. Some looked down at their hands, others shook their head, attempting to think of some way to combat the disputes that Combeferre had relayed to them. Not enough money. No projected income. No real advertising. No one seemed to have the right words to say as Combeferre just sighed and hung his head, Courfeyrac moving to his side, affectionately wrapping his arms around the director’s waist. Grantaire scanned the room, hoping one of his friends would have an idea. He wouldn’t be able to recover his credit. He would lose the work he had just spent two months doing. He would lose time with his friends- and Enjolras. Enjolras.  
Grantaire finally laid eyes on the back of the blonde’s head. He was shaking his head, chin still held high. He stood quickly, the ferocity of his character in himself.  
“We can’t just let him cancel this-” He exclaimed, eyes narrow and voice tight.  
“Yes, we can, Enjolras, he’s the university president and the one that was providing the means for this show.”  
“We can threaten to sue him-” Enjolras tried again, looking around to all the members of Les Amis d’ABC, which had now raised to watch the exchanged.  
“We cannot just sue the pres-” Combeferre started to shake his head.  
“This show is to raise awareness for diversity in the dramatic arts so we can just threaten a discrimination charge.” Enjolras’s face seemed set on this idea, a couple curls drifting over his furrowed brows as he scanned the room for those who might agree.  
Grantaire stood then, running a hand through his hair, “He’ll just combat that he never said it was for that purpose, that we’re just using that as grounds to press charges unless we’ve got written proof?” He asked, looking to Combeferre once again, but he just shook his head.  
“Okay, well then we find a way to prove him wrong,” Enjolras said, turning to face everyone who sat in the plush, red seats. “He says there’s no money? So we’ll make some. No real advertising? We start it right now- take donors and partnerships and sell advance tickets in a week- hit the ground running.”  
Enjolras looked through the faces, pausing for nearly half a second on Grantaire’s. His robin’s egg blue eyes appeared to shimmer with belief as Grantaire was sure his own gray eyes were dull with disappointment. Enjolras shifted his weight before moving on through the people.  
“We may be actors but that doesn’t mean we’re entirely helpless.” He said and a few laughs came from the seats and Courfeyrac smiled and straightened up.  
“We know how to make money. We’ve been putting ourselves through uni for two- three years now. This isn’t a whole lot different.” He said, shrugging as if raising money to support a show was normal and a few heads bobbed in nods.  
“Save every penny, make use of what we don’t need, we could do a bake sale,” He offered, looking to Combeferre with eyebrows risen.  
“And a car wash!” Joly chimed in, smiling as even more through the crowd nodded their heads.  
“And we could sell advertisements in the playbill!” Cosette added and finally the chatter in the group rose again, their heads bobbing and theirs cheeks lifting.  
Combeferre stood, adjusting his glasses as he looked around hopefully and nodded. “Alright. It’s settled. We organize the fundraisers- sell the tickets and the show will go on.” And a cheer sailed through the Amis as they excitedly scattered.


	5. Chapter 5

“You have got to be kidding me.” Grantaire said into his phone, his face deadpan as he walked into the extra room in his tiny apartment that served as his “studio”, balancing a few new canvases, sketched ideas and old brushes in his free hand.  
“I’m not even shitting you.” Eponine’s voice came from the other line, the humor obvious in her tone.  
“Did Courfeyrac do this? A bare car wash? In October? He just wants to show off his boyfriend.”  
Eponine scoffed, “Who else would have suggested it?”  
“Fuck, Eponine, Enjolras will be there,” Grantaire said as he set a canvas on his rickety easel, the brushes going into a paint stained cup.  
“Yeah, and you can show off your hot bod.” She responded and Grantaire could practically hear her eyebrows wiggling as his own cheeks grew hot.  
“He won’t-”  
“Nonsense, R.” She cut him off, “You dance and you box and you are toned beyond belief, even straight boys find you hot.”  
His cheeks were scarlet now, “Whatever, if it goes as well as the bake sale did, we’ll be back on track to open.”

It was two weeks until their intended opening night now and the Les Amis had already started their successful movement. They had gone through the telephone book during a rehearsal, calling businesses and offering them playbill ad space or sponsorship opportunities: a group of them had gone door to door (and dorm to dorm) selling pre-sale tickets and taking donations. Half way through the week they had all gathered and put together a bake sale in the middle of the courtyard. They sold in shifts so the stand could be up all day and sold warm drinks and baked goods- Grantaire couldn’t quite decipher the look that Enjolras had given him when he had set down the plate of Basbousa bil Laban Zabadi- a Saudi Arabian sweet cake his mother had taught him to make when he was younger.  
The bake sale had done well since college kids always seem to be hungry and in need coffee and they raised a lot of awareness for their show.

“With people like you, Combeferre, Bahorel and Musichetta the car wash will definitely do well.”  
“Eponine-”  
“You know I’m right, R, so quit being a sissy baby and get there early on Saturday- take your shirt off, dance around a little, wash some cars and blow blondie boy out of the water.”  
“Apollo.” Grantaire corrected, “That’s his new nickname.”  
“Great,” Eponine said, her shit eating grin detectable through the phone, “I have to go, but make sure you’re there and you shake your booty for the boy.”  
“Eponine-” Grantaire tried again but the dial tone rang in his ear.

It wasn’t that Grantaire didn’t know he was fit- he was, despite eating on a poor art student’s budget and drinking what was left over, it was more that he didn’t see himself as hot. His muscles had been built over the many years of dancing and boxing, his stubble had been attained after weeks of neglecting a razor, his long dark curls, thick eyelashes, and eyebrows, and dark tan skin had all been given to him by his parents. All his tattoos- the vines up his forearms that connected around his shoulders, the minimalist solar system that ran down the bumps of his spine, the poem in a large chunk of script on the right side of his ribs, the lyric around his left thigh, and the curved olive branch at the base of his neck- they had been a part of him so long that he didn’t ever stop to think about them. They were just there.

In any case, Grantaire couldn’t not go on account of how Bahorel, Bossuet, and the rest of his new friends would hound him for not coming. Grantaire was comfortable in his body and this could be a chance to show off his tattoos and it could be fun, he thought to himself as he set up his watercolor paint pallet, glancing over the plain white canvas and taking a deep breath.  
____________________________________________________

The canvas bled with red and yellow and Grantaire leaned back on his stool looking over it. His face dropped slightly with distaste as he saw what his hands had done. He had attempted to clear his mind and just paint what he felt but obviously, he hadn’t tried hard enough as he now faced the swirls of peach and circles of blue that made up a face he had admired far too often.  
Enjolras was weighing too heavily on his mind -his subconscious even- for Grantaire to concentrate on much else. He sighed and put his paintbrush in his water, taking up the dish towel in his lap and drying his streaked hands.  
A knock struck on his door and he furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes drifting to see the time on the clock. 8:45 on a Friday night. Usually, Grantaire would be at a bar somewhere or at Eponine’s right now but he didn’t much feeling like going out.  
The artist stood and glanced back at his completed painting, deciding to turn it out of view to dry. He would decide what to do with it later.  
He made his way to the door and adjusted his loose tank top before opening the door to find Enjolras kneeling to put down a familiar yellow folder in his hands.

“Ap- Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, quickly catching himself from revealing his code name to its recipient.  
Enjolras stood back up, straightening the folder in his arms and sighed a little. “Sorry to bother you.” He said, though he didn’t sound very sorry, and cleared his throat. “Combeferre asked me to get these production shots to you for you to use in the art department. I didn’t think you would be in tonight so I was just going to leave them here..” Enjolras said as Grantaire looked at him, leaning on the door and nodding.  
Tonight Enjolras wore plain black skinny jeans, a longer black coat and a red scarf wrapped around his neck.  
The look suited him, he looked so professional, Grantaire thought, quickly shoving such thoughts -like what he might be wearing under the coat- away and stood back up.  
“Sure.” He said simply and stuck his hand out to take him. He cursed himself inwardly when he couldn’t help but notice how Enjolras’s thin fingers brushed against his own.  
He took the folder and set it down on the counter beside him, glancing back up to Enjolras, who was still standing there, his face conflicted.  
Grantaire raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, “Would you like to come in?” He asked, “I have cider- or tea.” He offered and shrugged, seeming a little surprised when Enjolras nodded.  
“That sounds great, actually.”

Grantaire filled his tea kettle, putting it over to heat on the stove as Enjolras hung up his jacket and scarf, revealing that he was wearing a simple white sweater under his jacket. It didn’t seem to be quite cold enough for all of that yet, but that wasn’t for Grantaire to decide.  
“So you didn’t have any plans with Combeferre tonight?” Grantaire asked, stretching to grab down two mugs from the top shelf, his t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame.  
Enjolras shook his head as he cautiously sat down on a stool at the counter, “It’s date night.” He said, his voice softer than usual.  
Grantaire glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he put tea bags in the mugs, “Ah, I see.” He said and nodded, standing back up and leaning on the counter as he waited for the kettle to steam. “Thanks for bringing the shots by.” He said and looked over at Enjolras, who was fiddling his fingers oddly enough. “I think my composition class is going to turn them into small posters we can hang in the lobby.”  
Enjolras nodded and looked back up as he ran a hand through his hair, his robin’s egg blue eyes looking back at Grantaire’s plain gray ones for a half a moment.  
“That sounds like quite a task.” He said, glancing back down at the mugs as Grantaire’s kettle hissed and he turned to pour them both tea.  
Grantaire nodded before offering the mug across the counter to Enjolras, who took it and took a sip. “Combeferre said I could offer them 25% off of their tickets.”  
Enjolras chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug. “Not much of a discount.”  
“The show needs the money,” Grantaire said, nodding and looking at his own tea.  
It seemed weird to have Enjolras in his apartment- a nice weird, but still weird. Enjolras’s presence stood out among the regular everyday things that seemed to clutter the small rooms; they seemed almost gray compared to him.

Enjolras nodded in between sips of his drink, looking around the room and Grantaire found his cheeks warming slightly, “Sorry, it’s a mess. I’ve been painting and wasn’t expecting anyone.”  
Enjolras just shook his head, setting his half empty mug down and looking over at Grantaire curiously. “You didn’t have any plans for a Saturday night either?”  
“I didn’t feel like going out,” Grantaire said casually and put his own mug back down.  
Once again Enjolras nodded after a moment and set his hands in his lap as he thought to himself.  
“Are you alright, Enjolras?” Grantaire found himself asking, tilting his head to the side as he watched Enjolras look up and push a golden curl from his brow. “You seem quiet.”  
“I’m fine,” Enjolras assured him, standing, “Just tired, I suppose, I should be getting home.” He nodded once and shifted his weight.  
Grantaire looked over him for a minute, his shoulders seeming to fall at the suggestion. “Sure.” He moved to get Enjolras’s things from the hat stand by his door and Enjolras cleared his throat as he followed.  
Grantaire winced at himself as he found Enjolras peering into his extra room and secretly hoped Enjolras would ask to see some of his things.   
“I’ll have to show you the posters once we finish them,” Grantaire said, moving to grab down Enjolras’s things.  
“I’m sure they’ll look amazing,” Enjolras replied, quickly going to retrieve his things himself, bumping into Grantaire and tripping over the foot of the hat stand.  
In an effort to stop Enjolras from falling, Grantaire had dropped his coat and scarf and now found himself with his arms wound tightly around the blonde’s middle, backed against his front door.  
Enjolras breathed out in a huff as he looked to Grantaire, who was already looking at Enjolras, petrified with where he now was, but not bringing himself to let go. They stayed like that for a long moment -maybe too long, Grantaire thought- gray eyes trying their best to memorize everything about the robin’s egg blue eyes before Enjolras cleared his throat and Grantaire dropped his arms back to his sides.  
“Sorry,” Enjolras breathed and Grantaire shook his head, kneeling to pick the coat and scarf up off the floor.  
“The damn stand is a hazard.” He replied offering his jacket back and Enjolras slipped it on. “Thanks for the tea.” He said, buttoning his coat closed before looking back to Grantaire once again.  
Grantaire shrugged, carefully reaching up and wrapping the knit scarf around Enjolras’s pale neck, avoiding Enjolras’s eyes, which must have been boring into him.  
“It was nothing.” He replied, stepping back and nodding once as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you at rehearsal.”  
Enjolras stood there for a moment, hand on the door handle, “Well, the car wash is tomorrow..” He said and cocked his head to the side as Grantaire nodded, cursing himself once again as he realized what that meant.  
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow and shifting his weight.  
“I’ll see you then,” Grantaire repeated, pulling one hand from the pocket of his gray sweatpants and rubbing his neck as he looked down. He looked up in time to catch Enjolras taking one last glimpse at him before rounding the door frame and disappearing.


	6. Chapter 6

9 am. 50 degrees. 13 people in swimsuits and thick socks with buckets of soapy water, hoses and huge sponges in the parking lot of a grocery store.  
Grantaire’s mind couldn’t think of enough curse words to describe how his current situation made him feel. Thank God Jehan was kind enough to bring in a pack of wool socks so the Amis’ feet wouldn’t freeze.

Grantaire had rolled up at 8:30 to park beside Eponine and sighed as he scooted into her passenger seat, “This is really a thing that’s happening, huh?”  
She nodded, chuckling and poking him in the side, “Everybody agreed to do it, so here we are.”  
Grantaire rolled his eyes as he looked out her side window, watching the other Amis getting out of the cars they had shared to get there.  
“Are you excited to show off your dancer body?” He heard Eponine ask but he shrugged, running a hand through his hair.  
“I don’t think he’ll care anything about my body, Eponine, that isn’t really how gray-sexual works.”  
Eponine scoffed and put her sunglasses down on her dashboard, starting to get out of the car, “I feel like you are the gray he’s sexual for.”  
Grantaire scoffed, shaking his head as he got out of the car as well and made his way over to where the group had set up.  
Everyone was still dressed in layers as Bahorel and Combeferre worked on filling some large tubs with soap and hot water from a hose the grocery store was kind enough to allow them to use.  
Joly and Cosette had brought and set up a table with hot water heaters with coffee and hot chocolate as well as a spread of scones that Bossuet had made.  
Courfeyrac worked with Jehan on taking the large sponges out of their packages and Marius helped Feuilly set up signs around the parking lot and by the road.  
Musichetta had brought a couple of large tub containers for the Amis to keep what they didn’t want to get wet in without having to keep it in their cars and Eponine was, to no one’s surprise, filling ‘Super Soakers’ up from their tubs of water.  
By 9 o’clock everything was set up and Combeferre thanked them for being here though it was cold, while handing out the warm socks Jehan had brought. Bahorel whooped as the group counted down to one, stripping down to their bathing suits and storing their things away in Musichetta’s tubs. They laughed when Bahorel made a joke about something like never having been to a strip club that was both this cold and had such an attractive bunch- to which he received an elbow in the side from Feuilly. 

The group had been planning and organizing the car wash for about two weeks and hadn’t failed to advertise and by 9:30 they had collectively washed 5 cars.  
Not long after, Eponine came up and tapped Grantaire’s shoulder from behind, motioning with her head to a certain blonde student walking over, “Loverboy is here.” She said, smiling.  
Grantaire shot a look at her, “I should have never told you.” She just shrugged and poked his cheek, “It would be much less fun if I didn’t know.” She said, walking back over to refill her water gun.  
Grantaire glanced at Enjolras again, meeting his eyes for a moment and having to look away when his brain tricked him into thinking that Enjolras had blushed. He glanced down at himself as he went to wet his sponge again- his tan legs jutting out of his olive green swim trunks and his wool socks covering his feet- and ran a hand through his hair as he scrubbed the sponge over the car he was currently washing.

He made himself keep from looking over at Enjolras until they met at the snack table, Grantaire going to hand an extra paper cup to the person behind him before realizing who it was and looking up quickly.  
“Hi,” Enjolras said simply, taking the cup from Grantaire’s hand and holding it in his own. “I’ve barely seen you all morning.” He couldn’t have blushed earlier, could he have? Grantaire’s mind had just made that up. Or it was the cold.  
“We’ve had a steady flow of cars,” Grantaire said and nodded a little as he filled his cup with coffee, sipping it black.  
“That’s a good sign,” Enjolras said as he did the same with hot chocolate.  
Grantaire nodded and looked out at their group, forcing himself not to get a clarifying glance to see if Enjolras really was wearing swim trunks with the French flag. “I didn’t see you earlier when we were setting up.”  
Enjolras nodded, still facing him, “I had a late deadline last night and asked Combeferre if I could come in a little later.”  
‘Why had Enjolras agreed to come in last night if he had a late deadline?’ Grantaire found himself thinking.  
“Got it.” He said, his head bobbing as he took a sip of his coffee, “Well, the more the merrier.” He said, tossing his empty paper cup into the trash before suddenly getting shot with a long stream of water from Eponine’s gun.  
He could hear Eponine cackling and Enjolras laughing from where he stood far enough away from him to avoid the fire. Grantaire shook his head, opening his eyes against the water splashing against his chest and shoulders, “Oh no-!” He called, turning to Enjolras, “You don’t get to just stand there and laugh!” He leapt over, pulling Enjolras into the unwanted sprinkling system, despite his laughing attempts to get free.  
Enjolras tried to push away from Grantaire and escape the water but his efforts were pointless against Grantaire, keeping him in the line of fire until Eponine’s gun ran out of water.  
Grantaire finally let Enjolras go, the pair of them still laughing as Enjolras wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly in the newly chilled air. “You’re lucky I don’t have one of those guns!” He said, pointing at Grantaire.  
Grantaire just smiled, not being able to fail to notice the way the beads of water slipped from Enjolras’s golden curls that stuck to his forehead, down onto his brow or nose. He shrugged, “Well, you don’t have one of those guns so I’m safe.”  
“For now,” Enjolras commented, glancing at Grantaire over his shoulder as he walked back over to the tubs to dry off.  
He was wearing French flag swim trunks.  
____________________________________________________

“Hey- Grantaire, and uh- Enjolras,” Combeferre called around 12:30 from over by the snack table and the two walked up a moment later, Grantaire’s eyebrow raised as he glanced at Enjolras and back to Combeferre.  
“Can you two do me a favor and go to pick up lunch?” He asked, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses and running a hand through his dark undercut. “I ordered from a small sandwich shop downtown, I can text Enjolras the address?” He finished and propped up an eyebrow, looking between the two.  
Enjolras cast a look at Grantaire before nodding, “Sure, but,” he added, twisting to face Grantaire, “I walked here so you’re going to have to drive.”  
Grantaire was surprised Enjolras had agreed but nodded, gesturing to the tubs with his chin, “My keys are in my pants pocket.”  
Enjolras scoffed and nodded, “We have to get dressed too. We can’t go downtown into a real restaurant in swimsuits in the middle of October.”  
Grantaire smiled as he walked over to pull his clothes back on, “That hasn’t stopped us from washing cars in swimsuits in the middle of October.” He countered, finally really allowing himself to glance secretly over at Enjolras.  
His chest was as fair as the rest of him but to Grantaire’s surprise, he had freckles; clusters of them over his back, chest, and shoulders.  
Grantaire looked back up as Enjolras succeeded in pulling his t-shirt back on and pulled his own sweater back on, smoothing it down and stepping into his jeans, over his damp swimsuit.  
“You said you designed your tattoos,” Enjolras said as he sat in the front seat of Grantaire’s clunky car, looking through his CD book. “Is the script on your ribs by you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow though his didn’t look up from the CD titled in sharpie, ‘Grantaire’s bad day mix’.  
Grantaire glanced over at him as he drove, his cheeks heating again. Enjolras remembers his tattoos. He was looking at Grantaire. “Um, no, it’s a poem my mother wrote, but the script is mine, yes.” He said between his phone GPS giving instructions.  
Enjolras nodded casual and slipped a CD titled ‘Rad vibes’ into the CD player, which sputtered a moment before first song- Jackie and Wilson by Hozier- played. “She must be a wonderful writer for you to get her words printed on your body permanently.”  
“She was,” Grantaire said, turning at the light and nodding. “The one I have is called ‘Wild Child’.”  
He could feel Enjolras’s eyes on him. He must not have known that Grantaire’s mother was gone. Grantaire felt like people could tell sometimes. They could look at him and point, knowing how he his mother was gone.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”, Enjolras started, running a hand through his hair as he looked down and put the CD book back in Grantaire’s glove compartment.  
“How could you have known?” Grantaire cut him off, parking by the curb of the restaurant. He glanced over at Enjolras and the actor just nodded, getting out of the car and going into the sandwich shop.

He was quiet most of the way back to the car wash, sometimes humming along to the music that lulled out of the poor overused speakers of Grantaire’s car.  
Grantaire parked and unbuckled, “Thanks for going with me. That would have been much more boring if I went by myself.” He felt awkward, it was too formal- thanking Enjolras for something he hadn’t chosen to do- but the thought drifted away when he looked over at Enjolras, seeing the way he was looking at him.  
Enjolras’s head was tilted to the side, his curls hanging down onto his shoulder, and his robin’ egg blue eyes looked over Grantaire’s face. He seemed to be deciding something, what to say, Grantaire supposed. Finally, his eyes clicked and he seemed to have made up his mind, leaning over and resting a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.  
Grantaire glanced at his hand and would have asked him about it if he weren’t shocked by Enjolras’s lips pressing tenderly against his own. Only once Grantaire had fully processed what Enjolras’s lips were doing against his was he kissing back, breathing softly out his nose and resting his hand delicately on Enjolras’s jaw as if he might fade like a mirage.  
Enjolras’s lips moved easily against Grantaire’s and he leaned forward, over the center console as his hand moved to rest on the back of Grantaire’s neck- sending shivers down his spine.  
It felt too short, but Grantaire thought that maybe any amount of time kissing Enjolras would be too short, and just as suddenly as Enjolras had started kissing him did he stop. His cheeks were colored slightly pink as he cleared his throat and reached for the door handle, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He mumbled and shook his head.  
It took Grantaire too long a moment to recover, really believe his own senses, to respond and Enjolras was already out of the car and carrying the bags of sandwich combos back to where the group was now, taking a break during a lull in business to warm back up in blankets.  
Grantaire sighed deeply, leaning his head on the warm leather of the steering wheel where his hands had been earlier. How could he have just let Enjolras walk out so quickly? A moment later and he was walking back up to the snack table where the sandwiches were laid out, Eponine handing him a BLT. “Your favorite.” She grinned as he nodded his thanks.  
____________________________________________________

They didn’t talk for the rest of the day and Grantaire’s stomach twisted whenever he happened (more like imagined) to catch Enjolras looking over at him, washing or rinsing a car, refilling a tub or restocking soap. His mind seemed to torment him as he rubbed circles on the hood of a car with the foamy, yellow sponge, never ceasing to run the moment over and over in his head- how Enjolras seemed to sigh against his own lips- how soft they had been, to his surprise.  
But he did his best to shove those thoughts aside, force them far back in his mind. Enjolras was sorry he had done it. He had apologized before leaving. It was clear to Grantaire that the kiss had been a mistake and that he was to drop it if he didn’t want to get yelled at.  
Later in the afternoon the car wash closed with a happy cheer through the group and they made quick work of cleaning up- loading everything away and getting back into their warm clothes. The group had made over $400 and that was the extra reach they needed, along with the bake sale, ad space, and advanced ticket sales, to put their show back on track. They cheered and finished off the rest of the hot chocolate and scones before going off in their separate cars. Some to work on school work, others to perfect lines or meet with university presidents but Grantaire just returned home to his easel. His easel where he never seemed to be able to forget the person who kept invading his dreams, commandeering his thoughts and sleep, and pushing room for little else off of the canvas.


	7. Chapter 7

The next week was tortuous; long rehearsals every day (Grantaire had to skip his Monday dance class), sometimes with an added fight call, putting effort into effectively avoiding Enjolras, though somehow managing to sketch him over and over as if on it was his default setting, and food runs from the cast and crew dinners. Some nights Grantaire wouldn’t be returning to his bed until late at night- nearly 11 o’clock. He found that, despite trying not to make Enjolras uncomfortable by bringing up the kiss- which he couldn’t help but think about every time he saw him, he didn’t mind working hard for this show. He didn’t mind the late nights or early morning panic texts from some of the cast on different days.  
Combeferre had taken Javert the money they had made purely because they believe in the show they are doing and believe it will be a success and Javert reluctantly agreed to allow them to continue on with their show, much to the relief of the cast, who hadn’t actually stopped rehearsing or putting the set together.

Grantaire did try his hardest to push all the thoughts- the ones he couldn’t seem to box up and file away- out of his mind, but it never seemed to work since Enjolras was showing up constantly in his sketches and paintings. Eponine was sure he was getting a head start on becoming a tortured artists, though he swore he was fine and that the kiss didn’t mean anything since Enjolras had wished he hadn’t done it, but Eponine remained convinced.  
It was a week and a half until opening night, nearly 11 days of avoiding Enjolras and Grantaire had to distract himself in his downtime because of how much he actually found himself missing the actor. He missed how Enjolras would instruct him on the purpose of something or on its history. He missed how Enjolras was actually open with him, wanting to know about dance or about his tattoos. He especially missed Enjolras’s lips but he barely let himself think about that.  
__________________________________________________

“That still doesn’t make any sense, Grantaire,” Eponine said as she walked out to Grantaire’s car with him- the night chilly and the stars burning far too bright for how dark it was.  
“Yes, it does, Eponine, now stop pushing it. He isn’t interested in me. He felt bad that he had mentioned my mom and didn’t know how to recover from it and I’m done thinking about it.” Grantaire replied, his voice tight as he unlocked the car.

The rehearsal that day had been long- the cast and crew having to endure what seemed to be an off day for everyone and the frustration was high already. Grantaire had nearly forgotten to think about the kiss all day, but here they went again. He had been doing so well. Nearly a whole day without his anxiety tugging away at his mind with ‘what if’s and ‘if only’s.

“But you can’t just deny how you feel about him, R-”  
“I’m not-!” Grantaire snapped, opening his car door, “I’m just accepting what’s true. He doesn’t feel that way about me, he will never feel that way about me and I just have to quit acting like a child and deal with it already.” His face was stern but his eyes pained, though, of course, Eponine couldn’t tell by the light of the moon.  
She only swallowed, shaking her head and getting into the passenger side of Grantaire’s car, buckling up.  
Grantaire sighed, taking a moment and running a hand through his hair. Tonight was a sleepover night- maybe he could get drunk and use that as an excuse to cry.

They soon arrived at Grantaire’s tiny apartment and Eponine used her key to let them in, her lips still closed tightly and her brow furrowed in thought. Grantaire followed her in, making a beeline for his small kitchenette, pulling a bottle of wine from the top shelf and a bottle opener from the drawer.  
“I’m not saying you should marry him or anything-” He heard her voice a moment later, his hand pausing as the cork was nearly all the way out of the wine bottle, “But you should at least figure out what was going on that day.”  
He twisted his head to glance at her over his shoulder, “I know what was going on that day.” He said quietly, twisting the bottle opener once more so that the cork popped out of the neck of the bottle. “It’s been happening since her death. Everyone assumes everyone has a mother. People mention it all the time, and feel sorry for me when I tell them she’s gone.” He poured the wine into two glasses as he talked. “People feel so bad they give me discounts, or let me make up failed credits, or kiss me.”  
Eponine had moved to throw away the cork, patting his back sympathetically as she passed.  
“He just looked at me and saw this pathetic, motherless, bi artist- after having just mentioned my dead mom- and didn’t know how to make up for it.”  
“Grantaire-” Eponine said softly as she stood beside him, rubbing his back and shaking her head.  
“Just leave it, Eponine, it’s probably better to believe that than whatever the real reason was.” He said, his jaw setting as he felt the familiar tug in his stomach and tighten of his throat.

Grantaire looked weary, a lot of the cast did, but you could tell that Grantaire’s weary wasn’t just the draining lights or repainting of detailed trim- only if you looked hard enough. His stubble had continued to grow and his eyes started to droop. His clothes seemed to drape on a slim frame though he hadn’t lost weight and was eating just the same, if not more with the fast approach of the show, but his sleep was unfulfilling and he spent far too much time lying awake and thinking of things that he knew would only hurt him. People get addicted to things that hurt them. It was much sweeter in the moment than in the aftermath- that’s how imagining anything with Enjolras was for Grantaire, addicting.

“If you say so.” Eponine replied quietly, tying her hair up in a bun and hugging Grantaire from behind before taking her glass of wine and leading Grantaire to the couch where they would finish the bottle of wine and the fifth season of “Friends”.

It was nearly 3 A.M. when Eponine stirred from her sleep and sat up, moving after a moment later beside Grantaire in his bed as his shoulders shook and intoxicated tears wet his pillow.  
“Shhh.” She breathed softly, wrapping her arms tightly around him as he twisted to cry against her shoulder, “You’re okay.” She promised.  
A moment later he sniffled as she pushed some hair out of his face, “I just don’t want to want him this much.” Grantaire slurred, his tongue slow in his mouth and his arms held against his chest.  
Eponine nodded as she held him, “I know. Go back to sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” She wasn’t sure if he’d be better the next day, or the day after that, but she did know that if it wasn’t soon she was going to have to find some other way to comfort him.  
____________________________________________________

If tech week hadn’t been hectic enough, show week was more than a few steps up. The cast and crew were together from the moment their classes ended to the moment Combeferre finally finished his notes and dismissed them all. Courfeyrac was frantically dodging around all week, completing the playbills and getting the box office in order. Jehan worked hard to ensure that the costumes all stayed clean and organized and kept the snack table in the lobby full of fun food combinations they had made up for the cast. Feuilly ran all the mic checks and helped everyone in and out of them as Bahorel helped all he could and made adjustments to the set to ensure it would last as long as it needed to. Grantaire and Joly spent time repairing props and Grantaire made sure all the paint was in good shape on both the set and props. Eponine refilled and continued to take safety measures for all the special effects and Musichetta helped her clean up the fight choreography. Marius made sure the lights and gels were all up to code and that the cues were all in order on both the light and sound board, that is when he wasn’t attempting to make painfully embarrassing small talk with the starlet, Cosette.  
The cast was ready. They had been off book for at least a month and had been making minimal mistakes for over two weeks. Their blocking was clean and their cues couldn’t have been clearer. There were times when Grantaire would forget he was part of making this play happen and would be awestruck by the talent on stage. Each time Bossuet or Cosette would deliver a power line it was like the first time Grantaire had ever seen it.

Grantaire hadn’t talked to Enjolras since the car wash, nearly two and a half weeks had gone by but his chest still hurt as if it had been the day before. He watched Enjolras in awe whenever he was on stage though he had somehow convinced himself that he wouldn’t. Eponine had spent many more nights at Grantaire’s, keeping him from drinking too much or painting too much and did her best to comfort him, though she was never sure how much good it would do.  
He didn’t cry anymore, didn’t talk about that day anymore either but Eponine could see the glint in his eye when he would watch Enjolras act that only best friends could identify. She never told him or talked to him about it because he really seemed to have convinced himself that he was over Enjolras, over something that had never been.  
Eponine couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if after this - the play, this whole thing with Enjolras- had all blown over Grantaire was different. She didn’t know what it was that had a possibility of being different- his broken heart maybe- but she knew that this wasn’t just something he could forget. His art alone proved that.  
Pages upon pages of men with thin, pin straight noses and high eyebrows were penciled into Grantaire’s sketchbook and the yellow paint disappeared faster than it ever had before but Eponine found no trace of the canvases used to display the missing paint. It was sure that he was love sick but the chance to talk about anything just diminished with the hustle and bustle of show week and how he drew into himself- becoming quieter during his work.  
His new friends noticed a difference too but whenever they asked Eponine she just explained that it was the lack of sleep or stress of show week. Grantaire always felt fine, as he told them whenever they would ask. Not good, or bad. Just fine. ____________________________________________________

Finally, it was the last dress rehearsal before their opening night. The lights were timed, the costumes pressed, and the playbills pulled off of the printer. Grantaire had to admit, this show looked great. The play was called “A Dawn to be Alive” and it was an excellently written piece on a man who dreamed of a better world during the French Revolution. He goes behind his loyalist friends’ backs when he gets an opportunity to spy for the rebel movement and comes very close to death many times; the character has a monologue about how only when he’s so close to death does he feel like it’s a ‘dawn to be alive’. In the end, he becomes a martyr for the cause and every time Grantaire has to watch Enjolras’s death, he can’t stop himself from flinching.

Enjolras, though never having been in a show, would blow the crowd away. Grantaire was sure of it. He wondered how fate would have allowed such a talented actor to stumbled across theater this late. What bothered Grantaire was that Enjolras didn’t seem to understand just how gut wrenching his performance was. He would make the audience fall in love with his character and the good intentions he had and then rip their hearts out with his death. Grantaire wanted to tell him but he knew he should just leave him be. Things between them were already uncomfortable. Or at least they were on Grantaire’s side.  
By now Grantaire had convinced himself that he couldn’t possibly have feelings for Enjolras. He just couldn’t. It wouldn’t work out and he would end up hurt, and right now he didn’t think he could take that; so, he didn’t have feelings for Enjolras.  
The truth was that Grantaire had never been in a real relationship, and that shit scared him. What were you suppose to do? Go to the coffee shop and get flowers on Valentine’s Day and remember anniversaries? That was rarely a thing Grantaire could see himself doing. But still, he couldn’t get over an ache in his stomach just to be with Enjolras again. But that didn’t matter now. Not when Enjolras didn’t want to kiss him and didn’t care that they hadn’t talked in weeks.

The run through went fairly quickly, starting right after the last class ended and ending just in time for everyone to be hungry. As they hung up their costumes and took off their makeup Courfeyrac made sure to remind them that ‘bad dress rehearsals make for great opening nights’. Combeferre had frantically scribbled notes all through the show and tried to decipher them, adjusting his glasses before giving up and dismissing the cast. Finally, Bahorel shook his head as the cast and crew collected their stuff, shouting something about how one bad show couldn’t ruin how great their run was going to be, that he was going to the bar and anyone and everyone should join him. He was met by a ‘whoop’ from the cast a moment later and Grantaire smiled as Eponine nudged him with her elbow. He nodded in agreement and not too long after the Amis tumbled into the small bar a couple blocks away and filled it to the brim.

“Here’s a quarter, go put on ‘Come On, Eileen’,” Jehan said later as they smiled at Grantaire and pressed a silver coin into his palm, nodding their head towards the jukebox in the corner of the bar.  
Grantaire nodded, smiling as Jehan pressed a kiss to his cheek, and got up to make his way through the mass of people at the bar being reminded by the surprisingly loud Joly that opening night is the next night and that no one is allowed to be sick over a hangover.  
“And what if I just stay drunk all day?” Bahorel teased as he winded his arms around Feuilly and rose his eyebrows.

“Then I would have to beat you with my cane.” Joly shot back without a second thought and Feuilly laughed as Bahorel recoiled in surprise.  
Grantaire snickered as he reached the jukebox and inserted the coin, thumbing through the song titles until he finally spotted Jehan’s request and tapped on it.  
“Hey, Grantaire,” Enjolras said as he suddenly appeared at the side of the neon-lit music box. He sounded casual, too casual, Grantaire though as he quickly looked up- not having expected Enjolras. “Great song choice.”  
Grantaire nodded slowly, “It’s Jehan’s favorite.” He realized he had never considered what kind of music Enjolras would like. Punk rock seemed the obvious choice.  
Enjolras nodded but seemed to push passed it, “Could I talk to you?” He asked instead, tilting his head to the side as he looked over Grantaire’ face. Grantaire felt oddly vulnerable but found he didn’t mind Enjolras looking at him so much.  
“Um, yeah.” He said dumbly, nodding and glancing around the bar, “It’s kinda noisy in here.”  
Enjolras nodded and suddenly had taken Grantaire’s hand and was leading him back through the bar and finally out the back door. Grantaire tried to ignore the burn of his cheeks as he followed; after weeks of not even talking, it felt nice to be interacting again.  
“I know, I made you very uncomfortable-” Enjolras started and Grantaire furrowed his brows as he went on, “And that I haven’t confronted you about it until now, and I shouldn’t have let it go on this long, I just didn’t know how I would bring up the kiss when I knew I was putting you in an inconsiderate position,” He paused and Grantaire shifted his weight.  
“An inconsiderate position?” He asked, his hands slipping into his pockets while Enjolras kicked at the ground.  
“Yes, giving you unwanted attention at a bad time and then dealing with it the wrong way.”  
Grantaire ran a hand through his hair, his mind in combat with itself, one side winning before the other could stop it.  
“You think that it was unwanted attention?” He asked meekly, looking across at Enjolras from behind the couple of dark curls that hung in his face.  
“Well, you certainly didn’t ask me to kiss you-”  
“It felt like I was being so obvious I did-!” Grantaire blurted before he could stop himself and suddenly the color was draining from his face at the realization of what he had done.  
“What?” He heard Enjolras say, his voice breaking through the ringing that was in Grantaire’s ears.  
“Nothing.” He said after what felt like an eternity but was actually far too quickly.  
“You wanted it?” Enjolras asked, taking a step towards Grantaire as if he were suddenly interrogating him.  
“Did you mean to kiss me Enjolras?” Grantaire asked instead, not giving up his ground.  
Enjolras paused for a moment before finally nodded, “Yes, I meant to kiss you, Grantaire I just shouldn’t have done it so abruptly-”  
He couldn’t finish because suddenly Grantaire was kissing him again, his eyes closed and hands framing Enjolras’s face.  
Enjolras was kissing back and it was all that Grantaire wouldn’t allow himself to think about. It was the wind in his hair on a sunny day and rainy days in a window seat. It was completing a difficult art piece or finalizing the set. It was laughing with his friends and a warm whiskey in his stomach. It was all that he would have imagined it to be, had he allowed himself, and Enjolras was kissing him back.  
Enjolras had surged forward a moment after their lips had met, into Grantaire’s embrace with a soft sound in the back of his throat. Enjolras’s lips were plastered against Grantaire’s and his hands were gripping at the sides of Grantaire’s loose button up shirt. He smelled faintly like raspberries and makeup remover under the smell of the bar inside and his lips moved eagerly against Grantaire’s, their chests pressed together against the chilly October air.  
Grantaire eventually pulled away for need of air, suddenly realizing he hadn’t been filling his lungs to anywhere near their capacity and watched Enjolras open his eyes slowly a moment later.  
“Oh..” He said, his breath obviously drained from his lungs as well.  
Grantaire blushed, dropping his hands down to Enjolras’s arms, “Oh?” He asked and tilted his head.  
“Oh, I wish I had spoken with you earlier.” Enjolras clarified and smiled as Grantaire nodded and chuckled.  
“Me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

Opening night was here and the excitement ran high throughout the cast. Many of them woke early, a couple of them attempted to finish homework they knew they would not do, and almost all of them arrived at the theater before their call time.

The night before, Enjolras and Grantaire had been interrupted when the majority of the Amis flooded out the back door, whooping and still singing a chorus of ‘Come on, Eileen's. They all wished the others a good night and Grantaire only got in a couple of questioning looks to Enjolras, who couldn’t escape from the mass of people to talk.  
The next morning both Joly and Eponine were calling Grantaire early in attempts to do some last minute check listing and anxious ranting. Besides, as Grantaire later realized, he didn’t have Enjolras’s number and wasn’t about to ask anyone else for it and have to explain anything about it.

5:30 and everyone was in the theater; Marius replacing gels, Joly checking props, Jehan sewing last minute tears in costumes, Courfeyrac setting out playbills and hanging up the cast list, and finally Combeferre racing between the cast getting ready in their dressing rooms and each and every one of the production crew. Eventually, Bahorel caught a hold of him and talked him down from his anxious high- taking his to-do list, promising to complete it and making Combeferre go change into what he would wear for the evening.  
In all the rushing around Grantaire barely saw Enjolras and knew he shouldn’t distract him even if he had. He reserved himself to the quiet torture of waiting and helped Bahorel with Comeferre’s to-do list until it was time for the crew to get dressed as well.  
The countdown was on; 20 minutes to curtain and warm up for the cast started. By the time they ended the production crew was in their marked seats in the house, marveling at the full house that surrounded them.  
At 10 minutes to curtain Combeferre told them all to break a leg and slipped out from backstage to the house, greeting those that knew him.  
5 to curtain and the cast was in their places- restlessly doing last minute pre-show traditions or taking deep breaths to themselves, the line they would say being whispered over their colored lips.  
1 to curtain and Combeferre was wrapping up his director's speech from in front of the curtain. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses as he finally introduced his own show and the crew and cast alike shifted restlessly as the lights went down and came up, the velvet red curtain parting to show the world the project they had all worked so hard to create.  
____________________________________________________

The show ran smoothly and received a standing ovation from the hundreds of people packed into the university’s theater. They were only a few mistakes that no one but the Amis could have recognized as mistakes and the crowd seemed to love every moment of the live theater. Grantaire even saw some crying after Enjolras’s death.  
The crowd and cast alike flowed into the lobby of the theater after bows, both from the back and front and praise was handed out down the row of actors, crew, and production managers. Flowers were exchanged and pictures were taken and soon enough the night of theater was over.  
The Amis reset their show, shedding their battle armor and war paint in their dressing rooms. Their own ‘good nights' and ‘great jobs' began as they started trickling out, a couple at a time.  
Grantaire tried his best to make it look like he was still cleaning up as he waited for Enjolras.  
Eponine walked up to him, her bag on her shoulder and her hair wrapped up in a bun.  
“Great job,” Grantaire told her, offering a smile though it was more than obvious he was preoccupied.  
Eponine gave a sly smile and nodded, “You too,” She said, glancing over her shoulder as Grantaire’s eyes suddenly caught on something just behind her. She smiled a little to herself and brushed passed Grantaire, giving his arm a little pat for bravery. “Fill me in later.” She added softly before making her way down the hall and out the back door; leaving Grantaire and the star alone.

Enjolras’s eyes had met Grantaire’s a moment after he had spotted him and he cautiously made his way over.  
The little makeup Enjolras had been required to wear on account of the lights had been washed off and his hair was braided down his neck as it had been the whole show- probably to prevent him from having to deal with the hairspray. He wore a baggy gray shirt that showed his collarbones and light-wash skinny jeans that were tucked into his red high-tops.  
“Great performance,” Grantaire said before Enjolras had the chance to say anything. “I saw people crying in the audience.”  
The corners of Enjolras’s lips twitched up in response, “You’re just saying that.”  
Grantaire’s head shook, though his eyes didn’t dare leave Enjolras’s face, in fear he might disappear. “Honest. You did a wonderful job ripping people’s hearts apart.” But hopefully not his own.  
Enjolras nodded a little, adjusting the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, “Thank you.” He said honestly and ducked his head a little. Grantaire was only a couple inches shorter than Enjolras, he realized. The distance wasn’t so far when he stood straight across from the actor.  
“I’m sorry we haven’t gotten the chance to talk,” Enjolras said, his voice a little lower.  
Grantaire shrugged it off, the toe of his dress shoe anxiously making mindless circles on the floor. “Busy day.”  
Grantaire had dressed up with the other crew members for the occasion: gray button-down shirt, black slacks and dress shoes, and a sleek black tie. Grantaire had even attempted to slick his hair back but by now it had returned to its ‘rule Grantaire’s life’ state.  
“I-um-” Enjolras began again and Grantaire was sure that was the one and only time he had ever heard Enjolras say ‘um’. “I don’t really know where to begin.” He said honestly and glanced at Grantaire from behind a couple escaped curls.  
Grantaire nodded slightly, shifting his weight. “If we’re being truthful here,” Which, he assumed they were, “You could say anything right now and my nerves would be soothed.” Enjolras chuckled along with Grantaire but it was true- his stomach had flipped every time Enjolras looked like he might say sometimes, and he could hear his pulse in his ears.  
“Don’t worry,” Enjolras said and Grantaire couldn’t help thinking about how that didn’t help him at all. “Could we go somewhere else to talk actually?” He asked and Grantaire cleared his throat, nodding as he scratched the back of his neck, and a couple of the audience members still left trickled by them.  
“Yeah, I think everything is closed now” Seeing as it was nearly 12 o’clock and the bars would already be filled to the brim on a Friday night, “But I’ve got a bottle of wine waiting for me at home.” It was too much, he suddenly thought, Enjolras wouldn’t want to drink in Grantaire’s apartment, that was crazy. But to Grantaire’s surprise, Enjolras nodded, looking over his face.  
“Mind to share a glass with me?”

“I’ve had this bottle for a while but I was waiting for a special occasion,” Grantaire said as he handed a glass of dark liquid to Enjolras, who took it carefully.  
“And me coming over is a ‘special occasion’?” He asked raising an eyebrow as he looked a small sip.  
Grantaire chuckled as he poured himself a glass, “Our successful opening night is a special occasion.”  
Enjolras smiled again, his lips curling upwards. “Fair enough.” He agreed, looking back up at Grantaire as the artist took a sip of his own wine.  
There was a long pause between them, Grantaire anxiously waiting for the warmth of the dark alcohol to seep into his stomach and calm his nerves, maybe even a fraction of an amount. Enjolras’s face was unreadable again and it made Grantaire worry. Maybe Enjolras would just pity him or would try to let him down easy. Maybe Grantaire was getting his hopes up for nothing, but he couldn’t tell because Enjolras’s poker face was fucking exceptional.  
“I’ve never had an experience with liking someone, Grantaire,” Enjolras said finally, putting his glass down and looking at the granite pattern of Grantaire’s counter. Grantaire watched him warily, waiting for the letdown.  
“But,” Enjolras said, looking up to meet Grantaire’s eyes for what felt like the first time in a long time, “Something feels different between you and me.” He took a breath and pushed an escaped curl behind his ear as Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat and he had to keep his wrist from moving up to help Enjolras, “And when we kissed..” He said, not finishing and pressing his lips together, “I don’t really know what to say, Grantaire, I haven’t ever had to do this before.” Grantaire couldn’t have been sure by his last sentence seemed to have been spoken out of distress and suddenly Enjolras’s lips were pressed tightly together, waiting for something, anything to happen.  
“Tell me what you want,” Grantaire said softly, finally allowing his brain to tell his hand to move. He reached out carefully to where Enjolras’s hand dangled at his side and intertwined their fingers. “I know I want this. Bad. But you have to tell me where you want this to go- if you want this to go something.”  
The pressure on Grantaire’s hand grew as he spoke, Enjolras holding Grantaire’s dark hand in his own fair one.  
“I know I want to see what this is. I decided that in your car that day of the car wash.” Enjolras told him, his robin’s egg blue eyes seemed to be shining the same way they would when he got excited on stage. “I can’t believe you thought you were being obvious.”  
Grantaire’s face warmed as he smiled, “I think you must just be oblivious, because I could have sworn you knew. Working on the canvas- and then that night before the car wash.”  
Enjolras chuckled, shaking his head as he took another sip of his wine, “I thought I was willing those coincidences to happen.”  
The artist leaned his hip against the counter as he looked at him, shaking his head, “Nope, I definitely thought I was making myself clear- holding you against the door for what felt like forever.”  
Enjolras laughed, a real, genuine laugh and it made not only Grantaire’s gut relax but his chest warm as well.  
“When you made me tea that day and the mugs were on the top shelf, I thought you caught me looking at you when your shirt lifted up.”  
Grantaire shook his head, finding them closer now, their wine glasses forgotten. “I wouldn’t have even suspected it.”  
Enjolras was smiling now as he looked over Grantaire’s face, the glimmer in his eyes new. “And then when we kissed..” He said slowly, cautiously glancing at Grantaire’s lips.  
Grantaire’s mouth was already dry with anticipation, his mind willing Enjolras to step closer.  
He nodded, “I was so surprised.” He didn’t need to speak louder than a whisper now that they were closer.  
“Is that why it took you so long to get out of the car?” Enjolras asked, his eyes flicking back up to Grantaire’s as his hand guiding the man closer.  
Grantaire’s head bounced, almost on its own. “I didn’t know what to do after you apologized.”  
Enjolras looked down, “I didn’t want to apologize.”  
Grantaire’s free hand was on his chin, tilting it upwards again. “Then don’t apologize for this one.” He said, his voice softer than it had been before and his neck inclining to fit his lips against Enjolras’s.  
The kiss between them was delicate but deliberate. No one was recovering from surprise or struggling to understand- though Grantaire’s insides were twisting with new found happiness. Grantaire found himself leaning back against the counter as Enjolras shuffled closer, abandoning Grantaire’s his hand to lay his own against his chest. Grantaire’s arms were wrapped around Enjolras’s waist once again, not willing to let him go, needing the kiss to last longer than just a few fleeting moments.  
After quite some time Enjolras finally pulled away, breathing out softly and resting his head down against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire’s bit his lip as the air hit them again but smiled nonetheless, “Do you want to get coffee with me tomorrow, before call time?” He asked, allowing his voice to return to normal as he felt the weight of Enjolras in his arms.  
Enjolras laughed again and nodded, “I would love to, Grantaire.”  
____________________________________________________

The show was a hit among the audience- both university students and those from the community. A local critic from the town paper had come to the second show and raved about it in his editorial, mentioning how their goal of a more diverse, inclusive idea of theater was a success in their show. The house was packed for the next two weekends of the run and the Amis Theater Company, as they came to be known, was beyond ecstatic- as was Javert with the rise in revenue. Teachers, students, and coaches got to the box office early to purchase their tickets- discounted with their school I.D. and the school newspaper followed the example of the town’s and featured the show in a spread after their third weekend of shows.  
Grantaire found excitement in watching this project unfold before his eyes- the company buzzing with happiness each time the filed into the theater at call time or tumbled out of it after the night’s show.  
He and Enjolras became official after walking into the theater one day hand in hand. They hadn’t even realized they were holding hands but the company lost their shit: gasping to each other, exchanging bet money, and fawning over how cute they were (the last was basically just Jehan). Eponine was beyond smug and spent a week spending ‘I told you so’ texts in every different way she could.  
They spent most of their free time together when Grantaire wasn’t at dance class, and Grantaire enjoyed even the times where Enjolras would chip away at his work while sitting crisscrossed on Grantaire’s carpet or he would be sketching mindlessly with his head in Enjolras’s lap in the courtyard. They did, however, spend a great deal of time making out in the back of Grantaire’s car or in Enjolras’s dressing room- but that was neither here nor there.  
____________________________________________________

Finally, it was the last weekend before Thanksgiving break, the last weekend of their four-week run and the Amis became as amazingly nostalgic- as anyone would. They steadily grew closer and closer to their last show and the plans for the cast party right before they split ways for the break were solidified.  
To Grantaire it felt like the last show snuck up on them, that it was too soon, but eventually it was the Sunday of their last show and Combeferre was giving them a pre-show pep talk about how this may be the Ami’s last show but for most of the audience it was new material and it still had to be as powerful as their first one.  
The show was as powerful, if not more. Each and every one of the cast members gave their all on the stage and many were teary-eyed while taking their final bow. Lots of the audience had cried, one lady even had to be walked out by her husband because of how moving Enjolras’s performance had been.  
The company trickled out of their dressing rooms after the audience was long gone, wishing goodbye to those that remained before going off to get some well-deserved sleep.  
Grantaire led Enjolras into his apartment where a large bouquet of colorful autumn flowers took up most of the room on his counter.  
Enjolras just grinned as he looked between his boyfriend and the fresh flowers, “You know you didn’t have to.”  
Grantaire chuckled as he closed his front door and hung up his coat on the rack that had helped him what felt like so long ago. “I know, but you deserve it.” He gave a shrug as he helped Enjolras out of his own coat and scarf.  
Enjolras walked over, smiling, and breathed in the sweet aroma they gave off. “Thank you.” He said finally when he felt Grantaire’s arms slip around his waist, twisting his chin around to face him before he was met by Grantaire’s lips as well.  
Grantaire had, of course, grown fond of kissing Enjolras. The effect of Enjolras’s lips moving against his was intoxicating and he could never seem to get enough- that is to say, Enjolras had no objections either.  
Enjolras twisted around in the artist’s arms and was soon pressing back against him, his arms draped around his neck and playing with the few dark curls that fell there.  
Grantaire smiled against Enjolras’s thin lips, resting his hands on his hips as Enjolras’s hands made their way down to the vine tattoos on Grantaire’s biceps.  
After a long moment, Enjolras pulled away, his robin’s egg blue eyes scanning Grantaire face before he finally spoke, his voice a bit lower than it had been before.  
“You know, I haven’t had the chance to become acquainted with all of your tattoos.” His cheeks were a light rosy color but his stance didn’t waver.  
Grantaire’s lips spread further as he smiled, leaning his head a bit lower to kiss along Enjolras’s exposed neck. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” He asked, his own voice gravelly as he pulled Enjolras closer. It seemed a cheesy line, he knew that, but what more could he say to a beautiful blonde gray-sexual hinting for him to get closer?  
Soon enough Enjolras’s breathing had hitched as his thin fingers made quick work of freeing Grantaire from his button up, his lips playing at the sensitive space just under Enjolras’s ear.  
Grantaire was backtracking him, leading him back to his own bedroom, only pausing to allow Enjolras to pull his own t-shirt off over his head and let it fall down to the ground.  
They fell back against Grantaire’s bed, his lips eagerly exploring Enjolras’s collarbones and chest as he struggled out of his jeans. Enjolras laid back against the bed, his breath skipping as goosebumps rose places Grantaire’s lips ghosted.  
Grantaire kicked his jeans the rest of the way off before climbing back on the bed where Enjolras leaned back up to kiss him deeply and run his hands over Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire kissed back, open mouthed, but pressed him back against the bed, his hands running up and down Enjolras’s sides.  
A moment later Enjolras shuddered as his fingers fumbled with his own zipper, pulling away from their kiss to free himself from his jeans. Grantaire helped him shimmy out of them and brushed them off the bed, his attention returning to where Enjolras shifted, his erection obvious in his briefs.  
Grantaire couldn’t help but smile to himself, seeing Enjolras on his bed, beckoning him closer. He met him halfway and pushed Grantaire back down against the comforter, his hand not wasting a moment to palm Grantaire through his boxers.  
Grantaire groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt himself grow hard in Enjolras’s hand.  
They were kissing again and Grantaire’s middle grew hotter and hotter with every move of Enjolras’s wrist until his pushed his hand away, sitting up. Enjolras looked at him for a moment, his lips already swollen before shifting up to follow Grantaire’s example and push off his underwear.  
Grantaire paused as he sat back on his knees, his eyes drinking in the sight of Enjolras. Enjolras was blushing a moment later and cleared his throat, “Is this -uh- okay?”  
“You’re so beautiful.” Grantaire breathed in reply, nearly cutting him off with a nod.  
Grantaire moved more gingerly then to straddle Enjolras’s hips as he laid down. Grantaire left tender kisses along his neck, trailing down his shoulders and over his collarbones. Enjolras’s hands had found their way into Grantaire’s curls, gripping at them slightly as his hips began to grind against Enjolras’s with a soft moan.  
“Do you have, like, stuff?” Enjolras breathed quietly, his eyes hooded as Grantaire’s hips stilled and he nodded, leaning over to his bedside table to retrieve a condom and small bottle of lube.  
Enjolras watched him and swallowed as he nodded a little, “Okay.” He said and laid back down, looking at Grantaire.  
“Everything alright?” Grantaire asked, setting the things down on the bed and leaning closer to kiss Enjolras’s thighs.  
Enjolras nodded, “Just be easy.”  
Grantaire nodded in agreement, slicking one of his fingers in a thin coat of lube, “This might be cold,” He warned Enjolras before ghosting his finger down over his entrance, working him carefully before delicately pressed his finger into him as his free hand stroked Enjolras’s cock.  
A suppressed moan came from Enjolras as he watched Grantaire, his back arching up against his hand.  
Grantaire looked over him, biting his lip as his breath escaped him. Enjolras was fucking gorgeous.  
“Another,” Enjolras said a moment later in a whine, his head lulling back as his eyes slid closed.  
Grantaire obliged, slowly added a second finger and allowing the blonde to adjust before he flexed and straightened them. Enjolras moaned in response, his cock twitching against Grantaire’s fingers as Grantaire felt his own heat swell and his erection grow with each new noise that left Enjolras.  
After adding a third finger Enjolras bit his lip and nodded, reaching over and opening the condom for Grantaire. The artist rolled it on himself, moving his hand over his own throbbing cock for a distracted moment before his hand was shooed away and replaced with Enjolras hand, spreading lube over him. Grantaire couldn’t have stopped the noise that escaped him but Enjolras’s lips seemed to muffle it as his wrist moved a little quicker.  
“Ready?” Grantaire asked once Enjolras had laid back down, his legs spread open on either side of Grantaire’s hips. His voice was soft, sliding from the back of his throat as his eyes met Enjolras’s and the blonde nodded.  
“I’m ready,’ He agreed, his own voice more thick, velvety, than it had been earlier.  
Grantaire lined himself up and carefully pressed into Enjolras, who’s breathy moans were music to Grantaire’s ears. His hand moved to stroke Enjolras slowly in time to his gentle thrusts as he leaned back down to meet Enjolras’s lips, though neither of them could be prevented from making noise.  
“Faster,” Enjolras basically ordered a moment later and both Grantaire’s hips and hand sped up as he obeyed, his free hand helping him to balance over Enjolras.  
Enjolras was a moaning, whining mess and Grantaire couldn’t get enough of it. He wanted every move he made to draw a noise from the back of Enjolras’s throat or from the depths of his stomach. He kissed any skin he could reach, sighing softly himself as his hips rocked Enjolras back against the bed.  
Suddenly Enjolras’s grip on Grantaire’s dark curls grew tighter with a gasp and Grantaire nodded in understanding, his own breathing picking up. A moment later and they were both a moaning mess, Grantaire struggling to thrust through their highs as Enjolras’s hips raised off the bed, his back arched.  
Grantaire breathed hard as he eventually laid back against the bed beside Enjolras and the blonde looked over at him, smiling as his chest rose and fell quickly, his freckles seeming to dance.  
“I haven’t been sexually attracted to someone for a very long time, Grantaire.” He said, reaching over and taking Grantaire’s hand in his own, “But I am so glad I am attracted to you.” His eyes slipped closed as he twisted onto his side, leaning against Grantaire’s chest as he gently stroked his golden curls, his own lips curled up into a smile as sleep pulled him down under.  
____________________________________________________

Enjolras’s eyes cracked open as the yellow sunshine crept through Grantaire’s shades and illuminated the white comforter that sprawled on his bed. He ran a hand through his messy hair as he sat up on an elbow, the comforter dropping from his chest down to his waist.  
Grantaire was already awake, lying beside him, his fingertips gently tracing over the muscles of Enjolras’s back.  
“Morning,” He whispered softly, leaning up to kiss under Enjolras’s jaw just once before laying back down.  
Enjolras smiled, the sleep dissolving from his eyes as he moved to lay his head down on Grantaire’s chest, tracing the script of his ribs that stood out against his tan skin.  
They stayed like that for a while, Grantaire stroking Enjolras’s hair softly between his fingers and Enjolras’s head gently rising and falling with each breath the artist took.  
“A dawn to be alive,” Enjolras breathed, finally breaking the silence as he tilted his chin up to meet Grantaire’s ash-gray eyes that were already on him.  
“What?” Grantaire asked, a thick eyebrow raising as he studied Enjolras’s face.  
“I get it now,” Enjolras said again, sitting up and sweeping his hair up into a flawless messy bun. “A dawn to be alive, he only felt alive after he had been so close to death-”  
“Yeah, Enjolras, your acting showed you understood that part-”  
“That’s not it,” Enjolras said, poking Grantaire’s chest as he smiled. “He didn’t know what it truly meant to be alive until he had been someplace he had never been before.”  
Grantaire just watched Enjolras face as he waited for the point, admiring the soft edges of his cheekbones and his eyes, which were normally so sharp.  
“I didn’t know what love meant until I found you.” He said a little quietly, looking down at the brunette who still laid his head on the pillow, a gold curl falling down into his face. “My ‘dawn to be alive’ is you, Grantaire.” He added softly, and Grantaire’s breath caught in his lungs, but he didn’t need to worry long before Enjolras was leaning down to help him breathe once again.


End file.
